by Lucas Flint
“We have?” I said, tilting my head to the side. “I don’t remember meeting any sort of ‘vigilante’ before.”
Iron Angel stopped before me. Up close, he was even more intimidating than he normally was. I could smell the blood on his claws; it was metallic, making my nostrils burn just from the scent. “You mean to tell me that you’ve already forgotten about Fro-Zen?”
“Fro-Zen?” I said in surprise. “He was one of yours?”
Iron Angel nodded. “Indeed. In fact, I was the one who recruited him to the Legion. When I first met him, he was a confused, angry young man whose control over his powers was not as strong as it could have been. I took him in and trained him, taught him how to unleash his true power, and who the real villains of society are.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, young Edward always had a tendency to let his impatience get the best of him. He demanded that I let him go back to Golden City and finish off Rubberman, a demand I gave into with only great reluctance, because I knew he was not ready, despite his immense power. And, like I thought, he got himself killed, although I was surprised when I learned that you were the one who killed him, rather than Rubberman, like I suspected.”
I remembered only too well Fro-Zen’s rantings and ravings about the corruption of the superhero industry. Given Iron Angel’s similar rhetoric, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Fro-Zen had been one of his allies. Fro-Zen had mentioned that there were others like him out there in the world, but I guess I just assumed that he was lying or was crazy or whatever. It never occurred to me that he had been a member of an actual team of people who shared his views on society.
“So that made him your sidekick?” I said. “Right?”
Iron Angel suddenly leaned toward me until there was barely an inch of space between our faces. His eyes were wide with rage and his mouth was twisted in the least human snarl I’d ever seen on another human’s lips. His breath smelled of peppermint, but it wasn’t a very good smell given the context.
“Don’t accuse me of participating in such a vile, backwards practice,” said Iron Angel, spit from his mouth flying onto my glasses. “Edward was a young adult, fully capable of making his own decisions. He was as much a member of the Legion as anyone else. I would never endanger the lives of young teens by seducing them with dreams of money and royalties. Never.”
I leaned back and probably would have fallen over onto my behind if my foot hadn’t been glued to the floor. “O-Okay. I didn’t, uh, mean to insult you.”
Iron Angel stood upright again, although he looked no less angry than he had before. “Understandable. Your mind is still seeped in the old paradigm, in the idea that kids your age should be thrown into the kinds of dangerous situations superheroes face on a daily basis. But the Vigilante Legion does not believe it is in society’s best interests to let teenagers put on spandex and run around the streets fighting random thugs. It is every bit as cruel and barbaric as human sacrifice, and anyone who practices it deserves to die for that alone.”
I knew that the practice of hiring sidekicks was somewhat controversial in certain segments of society. I mean, my own dad didn’t really like me having this job, after all. But this was the first time I’d heard such strong rhetoric against it in real life, and it came from a former superhero, of all people. Even weirder, he sounded like he meant it, like he really did think that hiring sidekicks was as barbaric and wrong as offering human sacrifices to gods that didn’t exist.
Even though I probably should have kept my mouth shut, I said, “Well, I think you’re a little too extreme. Sure, being a sidekick is dangerous work, but it really isn’t as bad as human sacrifice. I mean, I’m still alive, you know? And I can quit any time I like. It’s really not as bad as you say it is.”
Iron Angel looked down at me with cold anger in his eyes. “Tell me, Alex, what do you know about the origins of the superhero industry as we think of it today?”
I furrowed my brow, trying to remember what my history classes and Frank had taught me. “Um … I think it started fifty years ago, right? There were a lot of people in society trying to fight crime without being police and the government threatened to ban it, but they made a deal with the government to have vigilante work recognized as a business so they could keep doing what they were doing.”
Iron Angel sighed. “That’s a very crude, bare bones summation, but it is correct. Fifty years ago, superheroes were once known as vigilantes. They took to the streets to clean up their neighborhoods, towns, and cities, especially in areas where the local government was corrupt or incompetent. Some had powers, some had money and equipment, and some just had their fists. Regardless, they were all motivated by their desire to punish criminals and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. They were real heroes, far superior to the current celebrities and businessmen who masquerade as defenders of the weak and warriors of righteousness.”
“Those guys were cool,” said Glue Gun. “A lot cooler than the current crop of superheroes we’ve got, that’s for sure.”
Iron Angel nodded and looked at me again. “But the government still didn’t like it, because their vigilante work was technically illegal. It was a huge controversy back in the sixties and the government threatened to crack down on it. Most of the vigilantes had become seen as heroes in their local communities; it was thought that if the government cracked down on the people who kept the streets safe, that many of our communities would become crime-ridden hellholes again. So the vigilantes made a deal with the government: If the government recognized their work as legitimate businesses, they would be willing to submit to whatever government regulations were imposed on them and work with the police. As you know, the government accepted the deal and vigilantes became businessman/private police known as ‘superheroes,’ because the law now distinguishes between those who fight crime alongside law enforcement and those who don’t.”
“What about the concept of sidekicks? How was that created?”
“Many of the vigilantes had sidekicks whose help they valued immensely,” said Iron Angel. “To make sure their teams weren’t destroyed, the vigilantes lobbied to have sidekicks treated as employees under the new laws governing superheroes. This entire deal was made in good faith, but unfortunately, few of the vigilantes foresaw just how it would completely distort what being a hero is all about.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Glue Gun, shaking his head. “They were cool, all right, but too shortsighted. Right, Hiss?”
“Right,” said Hissteria softly. “They failed to understand human nature or the kind of people that would be attracted to the business once it was legalized.”
“Indeed,” said Iron Angel. He looked up at the ceiling, seemingly forgetting about me. “At first, the superhero industry was small, but as the years went by, it grew larger and larger, until it is now a multi-billion dollar international industry. Nearly every First World nation has legalized superheroes to some degree, and even many Third World nations are starting to allow superheroes to operate in their countries. There are even massive superhero acquisitions agencies, such as Munroe Acquisitions, that have no real ‘superheroes’ but still make massive amounts of money off of the brands and businesses they’ve purchased.”
Iron Angel’s claws tightened into balls. “But this money has destroyed the entire concept of being a hero. Most superheroes don’t want to help the poor or make their communities or countries better places to live. Justice is as foreign a concept to them as religious tolerance is to a jihadist. Most superheroes love the financial and celebrity aspect of the business, while neglecting or even outright ignoring the actual hero part of it, except whenever it makes financial or business sense to do so.”
Then Iron Angel looked down at me. “What is worse, however, is how they will exploit young people like you to make themselves richer. They draw you into the business with promises of money, fame, and untold riches, yet most sidekicks end up broken messes of their former selves. Teenagers with little-to-no life exp
erience are often pitted against the scum of society, the murderers, rapists, thieves, and others who have no qualms with killing young teenagers. These same superheroes will then exploit the popularity of their sidekicks to increase their own revenues, while paying them a pittance in return. It is as evil as anything that supervillains do, yet it is recognized as legitimate by the government.”
“If you think that it shouldn’t be legal to hire sidekicks, why don’t you go complain to the government about it?” I said. “It’s not like there’s anything I or Rubberman can do about it.”
Iron Angel laughed. “Ah, to be young and naive again. The government, you see, has no interest in changing the laws regulating sidekicks, not even for the good of the children. After all, superheroes pay taxes like anyone else, and if there is one fundamental truth about the government, it is that it is always looking for a way to increase their tax revenue. Government and business are much the same in that regard. Perhaps that is why big government and big business often go along together.”
“There’s also the fact that organizations like Heroes United keep lobbying the government,” said Hissteria. “Heroes United owns quite a few politicians in both parties to keep the law favorable to them. Therefore, even if some of our politicians wanted to change the laws, they can’t, because they would always be opposed by their bought and paid for peers.”
“Thus the existence of the Vigilante Legion,” said Iron Angel, gesturing at himself, Glue Gun, and Hissteria. “Government and business are in cahoots with one another. Therefore, we must tear them both up from the foundations and start again, beginning first with the superheroes themselves.”
“Are you going to kill me, too?” I said with a gulp. “Or just Rubberman?”
“Why would we kill you?” said Iron Angel in genuine surprise. “Weren’t you paying attention? Sidekicks like you are merely exploited youth. You are not part of the problem. Rubberman, however, is, which is why he should die the most painful of deaths.”
“Yeah,” said Glue Gun. “Sidekicks are just kids who don’t know any better. We may hate superheroes, but we’re not psychos like supervillains, either. We don’t kill kids.”
That should have been comforting to know, but it actually made me feel even more afraid than before. Maybe they wouldn’t murder me, but they made it pretty clear they weren’t going to let me go, either. They’d use me as bait to lure out Rubberman, but what would they do with me after that?
Iron Angel’s bloody claw landed on my shoulder, making me look up at him again. He had a far kinder look on his face now, though it didn’t do much except make him look even scarier, somehow, maybe because his bloody claws contrasted so much with his face.
“Alex, I know this is all so sudden, but I truly do see potential for greatness in you,” said Iron Angel. “Our quarrel is not with you, but with your boss. If you would join us, we could remake society. We could bring down the corruption, the vile laws, the evil politicians, and every other cancer which infects this industry. Together, we might even be able to change the world.”
“Is that what you told Fro-Zen?” I asked. “That if he helped you, you could change the world?”
“I told Edward something similar, true, but you and he are far more similar than you think,” said Iron Angel. “You remind me of him when I first met him, but I sense in you a far greater potential as a hero than even Edward did. Edward was always too quick, too willing to let his emotions dictate his actions. He could never think very far ahead, which is why I was not very surprised to hear that he died. You, on the other hand, seem smarter, less willing to rush headlong into dangerous situations, more aware of your own limitations and weaknesses. Under my training, you could become the first of a new generation of vigilantes, vigilantes who fight crime because it is the right thing to do, not because it will make them a quick buck.”
Looking into Iron Angel’s eyes, I saw that he was telling the truth. He really did think I had the potential to be great. He really did want to help me. And he believed everything he had said, too, about the corruption in the superhero industry and how he and his vigilantes were going to take it down.
To some degree, I even agreed with some of his opinions. I couldn’t forget Fro-Zen’s rants about these same problems or how Fro-Zen made a similar offer to me several months ago. And I gotta admit, there was a lot more truth to Iron Angel’s words than I would admit. I thought of Barriers and how hopelessly corrupt, selfish, and greedy he had been, working alongside a criminal gang to stage a fake hostage situation to make himself look good. I also thought about Munroe Acquisitions, which had hired Barriers in the first place, and no doubt was behind a lot of other shady or criminal stuff, too.
But then I thought about Rubberman. He wasn’t like Barriers. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, maybe he messed up sometimes, and maybe he didn’t always do the right thing, but I knew that at heart he was a good man trying to be a real hero. Rubberman had always helped me. He never exploited me for profit, and he never put me in needless danger, either. Actually, when I first started to work for him, Rubberman did his best to keep me out of most fights until I was able to defend myself.
I didn’t know if Rubberman was representative of most superheroes or if Iron Angel was correct and the whole industry was corrupt to its core and needed to be destroyed.
One thing I did know, however, was that I trusted Rubberman more than Iron Angel or any of his vigilantes.
So I looked Iron Angel in the eyes once more and said, “Sorry, man, but I’m going to have to say no. Maybe you’re right and maybe you’re wrong, but I’ve seen what your training does and I don’t want to end up like Fro-Zen, holding innocent schoolchildren hostage in order to make my enemies show themselves. If that’s what being a vigilante means, then I want no part of it.”
Iron Angel looked down at me in silence for what felt like an eternity. I sensed Glue Gun and Hissteria also staring at me, maybe in shock, because they had probably not expected me to say something like that. I didn’t break my eyes away from Iron Angel, however, because I didn’t care what they thought.
Finally, Iron Angel took his claw off my shoulder and stepped back. “Poor child. I thought you might say something like this, but I hoped that you might be able to see the light. You are still so young and naive, thinking that Rubberman is any better than the other superheroes out there. He is no more loyal to you than the CEO of a multinational corporation is loyal to his employees. The second you become a liability, he will cut you off without another thought.”
I didn’t agree with what Iron Angel said, but I didn’t feel the need to argue. Instead, I said, “Then why don’t you just let me go? If I’m not going to join your team, then there’s no point in keeping me down here.”
“Nice try, but you are still useful to us,” said Iron Angel. “Once news gets out that we have you in our grasp, the public pressure will force Rubberman to return to rescue you. If there’s one thing I know about superheroes, it is that they hate bad publicity and will do almost anything to avoid it. Plus, I think I can still turn you. Once you see the true corruption lurking just beneath the surface, you will understand … you will understand, and you will hate with the fiery heat of a thousand suns.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but at that moment, I felt a slight tugging sensation at my shoes. I looked down and saw Adams tugging at the back of my right shoe. He looked absolutely horrendous and I found it hard to believe that he was even still conscious, yet when he looked up at me, I saw that same intelligent mind I’d come to know over the last several months shining as brightly as ever.
Adams didn’t speak, but his eyes darted toward the hallway leading to Rubberman’s office. At first, I didn’t understand what he meant, but soon I understood that he was telling me to run. He had grabbed my shoe to indicate that I should blast apart the glue holding me down and then make a mad run for Rubberman’s office. I vaguely recalled Iron Angel mentioning that Rubberman had escaped through a secret exit back there. If I c
ould reach it, I would be scott-free. Adams would probably set up some sort of distraction so I could escape unharmed, although how he would do that in his current condition, I had no idea.
Yet that would require abandoning Adams and leaving him in the hands of these mad men. Maybe the vigilantes weren’t supervillains, but it was obvious to me that they were willing to hurt anyone even remotely connected with the superhero business. If Adams helped me escape, I could easily see Iron Angel taking out his anger on Adams, maybe even ripping his head off like he had done to three other people already. I couldn’t stand the thought of Adams dying, but then I had to ask myself if I really could save Adams and me. From a strictly logical point of view, it made more sense for one of us to escape and survive—me, in this case—than for both of us to remain captive or die. There was always a chance I might fail to escape, but there was also a chance, however slight, that I could get out of here and reunite with Rubberman and figure out what to do from here.
I had to try. Adams would be able to take care of himself.
So I nodded ever-so-slightly, enough that neither Iron Angel nor his fellow vigilantes would notice. Adams, however, did notice. His eyes flicked toward the office a few more times and then he slowly but surely reached toward his inner coat pocket. It was a very subtle movement, so subtle that the vigilantes did not seem to notice.
Iron Angel turned away from me and, addressing Glue Gun and Hissteria, said, “Hissteria, I want you to go down to Level Two and see how the others are doing. If they’ve discovered anything that could help the Legion, I want it set aside for further inspection.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hissteria, nodding.
Hissteria took one step toward the elevator doors, but as soon as he did that, Adams pulled out his smartphone from his coat pocket and flicked his thumb across some sort of app on the screen that I didn’t recognize.