by Drew Hayes
This monster stood over seven and a half feet tall, likely eight if one included the large, black horns jutting upward from its forehead. Thick, chitinous black plates covered much of its body, concentrated on the disproportionately large arms, the broad chest, and the thick legs ending in large hooves. Its face was dog-like, black sharp teeth in its muzzle and a pair of glowing red eyes above the snout. Any monster movie company would have paid top dollar for this creature to appear in one of their films, assuming they could keep the rest of the cast from pissing themselves.
“His name is Big Henry,” Hexcellent supplied helpfully. “His job is heavy lifting. Clearing rubble, moving cars, holding up support beams, that sort of thing. More or less the only things you’d be good at, except he doesn’t need a room and pay.”
Owen examined the creature closely. He knew enough about summoners to know that their creatures were often born of a problem or a need. Creating another being from nothing was intensely difficult; the only way to succeed was to pour an aspect of one’s self into it. The summons were supposed to do something that summoner couldn’t. They represented a strength to fill in a perceived weakness.
This summon was not built for heavy lifting. It was built for fighting. Maybe for killing.
“Guess we should give the people what they want,” Owen said, pointing to the other three Supers. “Why not have him give me a little tap?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Hexcellent replied. “Big Henry, punch him with everything you’ve got.” This time she didn’t yell, she barely even raised her voice. Owen had just enough time to wonder if her summons even needed to be close enough to hear for her orders to work when Big Henry sprang at him.
This one didn’t have as much grace as the other two, but he made up for it with a shocking amount of speed. He whirled forward, hooves nearly cracking the floor with each step, closing the gap between him and Owen in mere moments. The punch came at the end of the movement, part of the motion’s flow that utilized the extra momentum. It was impressive, especially for a being that Owen suspected had never been trained. The black armored fist drove directly into his torso, right between his sternum and stomach. It had so much power that, even braced in an appropriate stance, Owen was still moved back several inches as the concrete under his feet crumbled against the indirect force.
“Better than I expected,” Owen said, clearly unharmed or inconvenienced by the attack. He glanced up at Hexcellent, whose face had morphed from its usual antisocial glower into an expression of genuine shock. Given how strong this summon was, she’d likely thought it would at least do some damage to him. Owen didn’t fault her for that belief. She hadn’t been inside the Hero world; her sense of scale for what constituted strong didn’t even have a ranking for someone like Titan.
“How durable is this one?” Owen asked, his question shaking her out of her surprised reverie.
“Damn near indestructible.” Her jaw was setting, her eyes growing narrow. She was gearing up for round two, when she’d show that her summon was at least no less durable than he. If it could take his blow with the same lack of effect, it would prove they were on even footing. Owen, fortunately, knew better.
“Good to know,” Owen said, taking a step back from the summon, which remained half-crouched to attack. “Luckily, since you don’t have to use him to fight, we don’t need to test that. Let’s move on. Zone, how about you show me what you can do?”
Hexcellent stared at him for a few moments longer before dismissing Big Henry back to smoke. Owen was sure she wasn’t happy with him at the moment, but that would have to wait. He needed to finish seeing everyone’s skill set for now.
After that, he could work on making them better.
7.
Before either Zone or Owen could step forward, a bright red light flashed through the room, followed by a brief siren. That abated in moments, replaced by the calm voice of Mr. Greene.
“There is a fire two point five miles away from here. It’s an older building, and structural integrity is a concern. Firefighters are currently spread thin, so they’ve requested our help.”
“We’ll do it,” Galvanize yelled into the air. Owen presumed Greene could hear them, a suspicion confirmed moments later when the voice came back into the air.
“Understood. They’ll be expecting your arrival. Transport is in the basement when you’re ready.”
“You heard the man. Everyone, into your costumes and downstairs. If you take longer than five minutes, you’re getting left behind,” Galvanize commanded. His tone had seamlessly shifted from controlled but friendly to authoritative. Owen had no doubt he’d be abandoned if he dared go over the five-minute mark. Evidently the others believed Galvanize too, as they immediately dashed off toward the door, Zone peeling off part of his sweats before he’d even gotten clear of the room.
“Feeling nervous?” Galvanize asked, breaking into a light jog so as not to violate his own edict.
“Lil bit,” Owen admitted. “Been a long time.”
“You’ll be fine. Fires are where B.B. and Hexcellent really shine. Just follow orders and everyone will get home safe.”
“That would be a pleasant outcome,” Owen agreed. How nice these kids had it: when if they did their job right, no one died. In the Hero world, even if you did everything perfectly, sometimes success still meant blood on your hands.
* * *
Titan nearly missed his debut that day, due to the mirror in Owen’s room. He’d tried on his old costume before leaving Colorado, of course, but that had been a piecemeal ordeal, donning and checking each section separately so problems could be identified in turn. It wasn’t until he was fully suited up, walking toward his door, that the figure in the mirror caught his attention and stopped him cold.
It had been over a decade since he’d seen this person looking back in a reflection. This was different than going to see Lenny; this was a man about to walk out into a world of danger. He wasn’t just Owen Daniels wearing a costume. He was Titan, and the full of weight of that realization nearly sent him to the ground. So many memories, so many ordeals. So much loss. Part of him wanted to shrink back, to let Titan fall away in costumed pieces and turn back into Owen.
Instead, he reached up to the side of his mask and pressed a device in his ear, hidden by the red material covering his face. None of the others would have this accessory; it was only for Heroes. They’d made improvements to the ear pieces since he last suited up. This one was light and nestled in the crevice of his ear with total security, giving a sense that no sideways blow would knock it loose. The things had always been damned tough, but a good rocking could send them flying. Titan was unsurprised to find this flaw had been addressed.
“Titan, reporting in.” His words echoed through the empty room.
“Dispatch recognizes Titan,” said a soft voice in his ear. Somewhere in his stomach, a knot of worry loosened. Part of him worried Dispatch would have changed as well, but her voice was the same as always: strong, well-enunciated, and with a vaguely European accent. No one, at least no one Titan had ever talked to, knew Dispatch’s real name, location, or even powers. She was just always there, no matter what time anyone plugged in. Always there, always the same.
“Titan, please respond,” she repeated.
Owen realized he’d zoned out, listening to her voice but not her words. “Sorry, repeat the question.”
“You are cleared for active Hero assignments and for monitoring of a Privately Employed Emergency Response Supers team. Which of these tasks are you signing in for?”
“I’m babysitting the corpies tonight,” Owen replied, working very hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice. If he signed in for active Hero duty, it would mean she’d direct him to any calls for help that fit the bill. Being on oversight duty meant he could use her if a situation arose, but she wouldn’t try to assign any new tasks to him.
“Confirmed,” Dispatch said. “Is your team responding to the fire on Forty-Third Street?” Since
corpies and Heroes overlapped on rescue duties, Dispatch always knew who was going where.
“If that’s about two miles from my current location, then yes.” Owen broke his eyes away from the mirror and headed out his door. The earpiece wouldn’t be bothered by anything like walking. He’d seen people easily hold conversations with Dispatch while flying at supersonic speeds.
“Confirmed. You are on note.” Owen winced, involuntarily. “On note” meant he was officially working the incident, and any other Hero who wanted to check and see if it was handled could find out he was there. Being a working Hero made it pretty much impossible to keep a low profile.
“Thank you. Anything I should know going in?” Owen rounded the corner and stepped into the elevator at the end of the hall. The team had already informed him that the space below the lobby button would take him to a transport basement if pressed by someone with the right biometrics. A small push from his thumb and spot of clear metal suddenly lit up, sending him on a rapid journey downward.
“No documented Supers or Powereds in residence at the building. Cause of fire is undetermined, though given degree of neglect and decay in the neighborhood, natural causes are highly possible. Nothing in the reports so far suggests any variant-human activity.”
“So if it is a Super, I’m going in blind,” Owen muttered. He preferred to get at least a forewarning on these sorts of things.
“Again, nothing suggests-”
“I know, I know, sorry Dispatch. I’m just a little on edge,” Owen told her.
“Ah yes, this is your first active assignment since renewing your license.” Dispatch paused, an occurrence so rare it stood out like a curse in Owen’s ear. “In that case, let me be the first to say welcome back. The world has missed you, Titan.”
The elevator opened with a pneumatic whoosh, revealing a large black vehicle with a single open door. Owen moved toward it.
“Tell the world I’m on my way.”
8.
Their vehicle had a siren, which Owen found surprisingly delightful. In his Hero days, they’d had people with flight, teleportation, and other various means of covering distance, so the only time he’d heard sirens was from the police and emergency responders showing up in the aftermath. Sitting in the vehicle making the sound reminded him of his childhood, before his abilities manifested, when he would feel a thrill every time the firefighters or police officers would drive by.
Certainly, this team’s transportation had far more advanced accoutrements than the siren. It was constructed out of an SUV; however, the whole thing had been heavily fortified, from the wheels to the antenna. Even with five people inside, one of whom was far from slender, the car had only dropped a few inches. Bright lights buzzed along the dashboard. Zone was fiddling with something where the passenger glove box should have been while Galvanize drove them quickly, but safely, through traffic. There was likely an electronics’ store worth of useful gadgets and pricey doodads, all at their fingertips, but Owen was really only fond of the siren.
Everyone could see the telltale smoke billowing up from the fire a few blocks before they reached it. Had it been darker, Owen knew there would have been an orange glow cast against the clouds, visible for miles. Daytime stole much of the scenic drama away.
They came to a stop just outside a police barrier, Galvanize dashing out the door before the rest of them could even unbuckle their seatbelts.
“He has to go talk to the cops and firemen,” Hexcellent said, answering a question that Owen would have been tactful enough not to ask. “Unlike Heroes, we can’t just gallivant in wherever we want. We have to respect the chain of authority.” She’d changed into her costume, a black number with lots of zippers, buckles, and torn fishnets. Several logos, apparently for makeup companies, dotted her outfit; one for a clothing store named Fiery Discussion was featured no fewer than four times.
“To be fair, it’s also a good practice because they can tell us where our help is needed most,” Zone added. His costume was comprised of a skintight material across his torso that was see-through everywhere a logo wasn’t present. It seemed he was heavily sponsored by skateboard companies, a few football franchises, and one very enthusiastic energy drink. The latter logo, for a brand called Punch Juice, took up almost the entirety of his back.
“He’s right,” Owen agreed. “When we can, Heroes talk to uniforms, too. It’s smart to get all the information you can.”
Zone gave a nod, but pointedly avoided making eye contact with Owen, despite the older man’s agreement. This, it seemed, was going to be the least cordial of his working relationships. He idly wondered if Zone was a fundamentalist, a bigot, or just didn’t care for having a washed-up Hero on his team. It didn’t really matter; as long as the young man could stay polite, he was free to dislike Owen all he wanted.
“We should catch up,” Bubble Bubble advised them. Her costume was barely a costume at all, more like an experimental outfit from a high-end designer. It was white and green, which went well with the emerald contacts she’d slipped over her naturally brown eyes, and hugged her body in a way that spoke to the figure beneath without going so far as to divulge secrets. Even the logos she wore seemed a bit more tasteful than the others’, colors downplayed so they didn’t clash with her ensemble. Bubble Bubble was sponsored by makeup companies, as well as skin management creams, and a name Owen fleetingly recognized as someone who made designer handbags.
Corpies didn’t need costumes or masks, of course, since they didn’t undertake activities that earned them enemies. Heroes wore the capes and cowls by tradition as well as necessity: when one’s job required capturing or killing powerful people who often have powerful friends, it’s essential for them not to know where one hung their hat. Corpies were effectively specialized rescue services, like EMT or firefighters. They weren’t making anyone mad, so it was assumed by most, Owen included, that they wore the costumes in a vain attempt to seem more like the Heroes they weren’t. He kept those thoughts to himself as they exited the car and headed toward Galvanize. It was a free country, and they had as much right to wear costumes as they did to wear t-shirts or jeans.
Their leader met them a few feet from the building, his outfit’s cape flapping slightly in the breeze. Galvanize wore a costume closest to the style of real Heroes: a navy and white ensemble with cuffed gloves, calf-high boots, and even an emblazoned cape. He was sponsored by Punch Juice as well, along with several protein and nutritional supplement companies. The enthusiastic young man wore a serious expression, exactly what one should look like when dealing with a dangerous situation. Owen knew the pictures of him would look great, which he took to be the point.
“All right, team. I just spoke with the firemen, and this place is very unstable. They believe they’ve gotten everyone out from the bottom floors, but the top ones have proven treacherous to explore. We need to search for any survivors. Hexcellent, get Impers up to the top floor immediately and have him let us know if he finds anyone. Zone, I want you to start on the floor below. Bubble Bubble, that means he needs a way up. Titan, you and I will make our way from the ground. Hexcellent and B.B. will stay out here to evacuate anyone from the higher floors with Big Henry and energy spheres. Be quick, be adaptable, and make sure you don’t get in the any of the firemen’s way. Any questions?”
“Do they know what started the fire?” Zone asked.
“Nothing conclusive. It’s an old building, lots of smokers and ancient wiring,” Galvanize replied. “If that’s it, let’s go!”
Galvanize had no sooner yelled the last part than everyone sprang into action. Hexcellent summoned Impers in a cloud of smoke and had him leap into the air, heading for the top floor. Galvanize took off toward the entrance, pausing only to throw a small black mask on over his mouth and nose. Owen was a few steps behind, lagging a bit out of curiosity. Bubble Bubble had been told to give Zone a way up to the second highest floor. Given what Owen knew of their powers, he was wondering how they were going to pull that off.
The spectacle did not disappoint. Zone took off running, aiming himself at the side of the building. In a smooth, fluid motion he leapt from the ground, foot catching a brick window sill that he used for a second leap. Another jump off the top of the window’s outcropping brought him a few feet higher, but with it he was out of usable footholds until the next window. When Zone’s sneakers met the flat, brick wall, he pushed backward instead of up, executing a perfect backflip that sent him twirling through the air. Instead of plummeting to the ground, as one would have expected, he momentarily landed on the energy sphere Bubble Bubble had placed directly under him. Launching himself off of it, Zone’s nimble feet made it to the next window sill and the dance began all over again. It was difficult, dangerous, and stupidly risky.
But it was impressive. Owen had to give them that.
9.
The wave of heat that washed over Owen was oppressive, stifling, and strangely familiar. It had been well past a decade since he plunged into a wild inferno; he found the experience a touch nostalgic.
The bottom floor of the building was almost entirely engulfed in flames to some degree, thick, dark smoke pouring out and limiting visibility. From what he could see, the situation looked grim. Despite the brick exteriors, almost the entire inside was made of wood, wood that was rapidly turning to ash. At the rate the fire was spreading, it was a matter of when, not if, the entire structure was going to come crashing down. By his estimates, they had maybe twenty minutes left, and that was only thanks to the incredible efforts of the firefighters to control the flames.