“Mari’s powering everything up, so we’ll be good to go in a few hours,” Chuck explained.
“Who’s Mari?” Randy demanded. “And why haven’t you mentioned her before now?”
“Because it was none of your damn business until now,” Chuck replied. “She helps me run the project. She handles a lot of the tech stuff.”
“So… she’s your assistant?” asked Randy.
“No. And I wouldn’t let her hear you calling her that,” Chuck said. “She’s my partner.”
“Your sexual partner?” Randy demanded.
“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Sam.
“Because relationships between co-workers can get messy,” Randy growled. “If those two are…” He made a circle with finger and thumb and poked the opposite pointer finger through it, sliding it back and forth and whistling in time with each thrust. “… then they could be putting this whole thing in jeopardy.”
“OK, one, that’s none of your damn business,” Chuck told him. “And two, absolutely not. We work together, that’s all.”
Randy’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Good. Then I suggest you keep it that way. For all our sakes.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” Chuck told him.
Sam took another look around the place. He’d been expecting some vast underground complex with computers lining the walls and probably some sort of moving walkway. To say this was underwhelming would be quite the understatement.
“So, what happens now?” asked Sam, a little afraid of what the answer might be. “Do we go after this Beef Chief guy?”
Chuck snorted and smirked. Several moments passed like that, before he realized Sam wasn’t joking.
“Oh, you’re being serious? No. The Beef Chief is a Level Six supervillain. Maybe even Level Seven, we don’t know enough yet to make that call. He’s way out of your league for now.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “What? So, we’re just letting him get away with what he did?”
“No. Not permanently,” Chuck countered. “But for now, until we’ve got you trained up, yes.”
“Well that’s bullshit,” said Anna.
Chuck turned on her. “No. It isn’t. Those guys you fought earlier? The ones that handed you your asses? You want to guess what their supervillain level is?”
It quickly became clear that no, she didn’t want to guess. Sam took a stab on her behalf. “Three?”
“Zero,” said Chuck. “Because they weren’t supervillains. They were nobodies. And yet they took you all down.”
“They had guns!” Sam protested.
“Of course they had guns! What, you think the ones out in the real world won’t? Guns are easy. You did just see the Beef Chief turn those people inside-out, yes? You did watch that?” asked Chuck. “I ain’t ever seen a gun that can do that.”
“Well, yes…” Sam began. The way he said it suggested it should’ve been followed up with a ‘but,’ only he couldn’t think of one.
“Randy took out two of them,” Anna said. “The henchmen, I mean. That’s not bad.”
“Took them out my ass,” said Chuck. “They collided in the smoke and knocked each other out.”
Sam and Anna both turned to Randy. “You said you knocked them out,” said Sam.
“I did. In a sense,” Randy argued.
“Was it a made-up sense?” asked Anna.
There was a loud buzzing from the other end of the storeroom that made Sam jump and also dropped some subtle hints about the severity of the hangover he could look forward to later.
“Relax, dude,” Anna told him. “It’s just a… Actually, what was that?”
“Security door,” Chuck explained. “Mari’s back. Want to meet her?”
There was a vague rumble of apathy from Anna, some sounds of polite agreement from Sam, and a growled, “Not really,” from Randy.
“Tough shit. It wasn’t really a question. You’re going to meet her,” said Chuck. He gestured to a door that was half-hidden behind a stack of boxes just as it slid open. “Here she comes now.”
It was safe to say that Mari was not what Sam had expected. She was shorter for one thing, barely clearing five feet. She was unusually proportioned, with an egg-shaped torso, stumpy legs, and arms so long her knuckles brushed against the floor.
She was also made entirely of metal, and had a circular screen for a head, on which an animation of some cartoon-like facial features were being displayed.
“Mobile Armored Roving Interface,” Chuck announced. A flicker of doubt crossed his face. “Or Mobile Artificial Robot Intelligence. Or mobile something. I just call her Mari.”
“She’s a goddam robot!” Randy barked.
Anna raised her eyebrows. “So?”
Randy shrugged. “Nothing. I was just pointing it out.”
“She clanks when she walks and has a TV for a face,” said Anna. “We didn’t need it pointed out.”
“Oh, my dears, let’s get a look at you!” said Mari. Her voice was what Sam would describe as ‘grandmotherly.’ There was a hint of artificiality about some of the words, but overall Mari had the air of a kindly old relative about her, albeit one housed entirely inside a metal exoskeleton.
“You must be Sam. Goodness, how you’ve grown. I remember you when you were way down here,” she said, holding a hand up to indicate a height just a few inches shorter than herself.
“Uh, hi,” said Sam. “What do you…? Do you mean we’ve met before?”
“Not officially,” said Mari. The features on her face showed a dazzling digital smile that suggested a face much younger than the accompanying voice. “But you know how it is.”
Sam didn’t have time to point out that no, he didn’t know how it was, before Mari clanked across to Anna.
“Ms. Allen,” she said, bowing her flat screen head a little. “So good to see you. Have you been taking care of yourself, dear? You’re looking a little worse for wear?”
Anna self-consciously touched her hair, then crossed one arm across her body, catching the other arm by the elbow. “Jesus, what are you, my mother?”
“No, dear. You’re an orphan, remember?” said Mari, that animated smile still fixed in place. “It’s quite clearly marked in your biographical information.”
“Figure of speech,” Anna replied.
“Oh. My apologies. That is not one I have come across before. May I have your permission to store it in my databanks?”
Anna shrugged. “Do what you like.”
“Thank you!” said Mari. Her eyes blinked, becoming two black lines on the pale pink background of her face. “Done. I am very sorry if I caused any offense.”
She waddled around on her stubby legs. “Randy Rabble, as I live and breathe!”
“You don’t live or breathe,” Randy pointed out.
“Hmm. Not breathe, maybe,” Mari admitted. “But I like to think I’m alive in my own way.”
“But you aren’t,” Randy countered.
“In my own way.”
“Which isn’t a real way,” insisted Randy.
“It is. In my own way,” said Mari. To her credit, she didn’t seem to be getting the slightest bit annoyed, and remained as cheerful as ever.
“But that’s meaningless,” Randy growled. “I could say I’m a bunch of bananas in my own way. Doesn’t mean I am.”
“Yeah. I’m actually pretty sure you might be,” Anna told him. She smiled at Mari. “Ignore him. He’s… Actually, you don’t need an excuse. Just ignore him in general.”
Chuck stepped forward and patted Mari on her rounded shoulders. “Mari here is going to help with your training. She’s also responsible for the outfits you’ll be wearing.”
Anna’s eyes widened in horror. “Wait. What? What outfits?”
“Our costumes,” said Randy, practically frothing at the mouth with excitement. “How can we be heroes without costumes?”
“It will be a cold day in Hell before anyone gets me in spandex,” said Anna. “Serious
ly, I’m all for saving the world, defeating villainy, all that jazz, but if it involves squeezing my thighs into a spandex jumpsuit, I am out the door.”
“There’s no spandex, dear, I promise,” said Mari. “This isn’t the nineties. They’re much more practical these days.”
Anna still looked a little doubtful.
“Also, they have built-in exoskeleton technology which will enhance your strength, speed, stamina, and reaction times.”
Anna looked a little less doubtful. Sam was positively beaming.
“That sounds useful,” he said.
“I don’t need that stuff,” said Randy. “I’m already good to go.”
Chuck looked him up and down. “Well, guess we’ll find out. You’re all booked in for a test in five minutes so we can assess your current level of fitness.”
Sam’s face fell. His hangover had been creeping up on him. He could feel it thumping at the base of his skull, and yet he was still drunk enough for the room to be gently spinning. Neither of these helped get him excited for a fitness test.
“Can’t it wait a few hours?” he asked. “Or until tomorrow, maybe?”
“No,” said Chuck.
“I just think, if we have a good night’s sleep, and maybe some Advil…”
Mari’s face became a garish shade of red. Her features twisted into a furious scowl. “Get going, you pathetic, sub-human filth!” she roared in a voice that ramped Sam’s headache up to full volume. One of her long arms extended toward the door. “Hup, hup, hup. Move out, move out!”
“OK! Wow,” Sam protested. “Calm down.”
“Don’t you back sass me, you worthless little asshole!” Mari boomed. “Move, move, move! Go, go, go! Or so help me, I will kick your skinny behind all the way there.”
“I’m going!” Sam yelped, hurrying in the direction of the door.
“Thank you, dear,” said Mari, calming down instantly. Her face returned to its usual soothing shade of pink. “I appreciate your cooperation, I really do. This way.”
“You gonna let a robot talk to you like that?” Randy asked.
“Yes. Yes, I am,” said Sam, following Mari toward the door.
Randy nodded slowly and made a drawn out, “Uh-huh,” sound under his breath, like he was making a mental note of this.
Sam could feel the back of his shirt sticking to him with sweat. His breathing was shallow, and the drum solo headache had now become a full marching band.
“Hey, relax,” said Anna, spotting his look of terror. She gave him a playful nudge. “We used to train every day with the damn Justice Platoon. How hard can this be?”
Chapter Ten
“Kill me,” Anna wheezed. “Please God, someone kill me.”
Despite her protests, and the rictus of pain and horror that currently made up her face, her legs continued to move as the treadmill belt trundled by beneath her. She gripped the rails of the machine with both hands, which allowed her to occasionally lift both feet off the belt, to rest, before Mari would scream at her to, “Cut that shit out!” in a high-pitched, inhuman squeal.
She wore baggy shorts and an oversized gray t-shirt, both of which Chuck had provided. She’d been offered running shoes, too, but had chosen to run barefoot for the first few minutes, until the belt had torn a layer of skin off both her soles, and she’d taken up the offer of shoes.
Sam ran on the machine on her left, dressed pretty much identically. He stared down at the display on the treadmill, rather than at the mirror that ran the length of the wall ahead of them. He didn’t like watching the way he jiggled beneath his t-shirt, felt awkward looking at Anna, and was slightly creeped out by the way Randy stared back at him from his own machine on Anna’s right side.
The first few minutes had been hell. There were no two ways about it. His legs had quickly begun to ache, his headache had gone from ‘marching band’ to ‘the New York Philharmonic Orchestra’, and his chest had tightened to the point where he was convinced he was having several simultaneous heart attacks.
Since then, though, things had improved. It was still far from being an enjoyable experience, but it wasn’t as body and soul-destroying as he’d been expecting. His legs still ached, but it was more of a vague ‘this is doing us good,’ sort of dull throb, rather than the urgent ‘call us an ambulance!’ burn of previously.
His headache had retreated back to being a lurking grumble, and while his bladder situation was on the brink of becoming a pressing issue, he was generally feeling not-too-terrible.
“How are you doing this?” Anna wheezed. Her face was a shade of scarlet that absorbed all her freckles, making them disappear. Several long strands of hair were plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she was breathing like a racehorse having a panic attack.
“I walk a lot,” Sam said, meeting her gaze in the mirror. This was, he supposed, the truth, although he left out the bit about it being a way of saving on bus fares, and the fact that he speed-walked everywhere in the hope of avoiding confrontation.
He looked further along the mirrored wall to where Randy continued to glare at him. He had turned down the offer of running gear and was still kitted out in his cap, cape, and jeans combo. His boots were heavy, workmanlike things, and thudded heavily on the treadmill belt with each increasingly unsteady step.
“You OK there, Randy?” he asked.
“Just… fine,” Randy replied, although the three-second pause between each word suggested he was struggling more than he was letting on. “This is… a walk…”
He wheezed through his nose several times, still holding Sam’s gaze.
“… in… the park.”
“OK, good,” said Sam. “I just thought you looked like you were struggling a little.”
“Struggling?” Randy said. He tried to laugh, but it came out as a series of hissing gasps. Sweat ran down from beneath his leather cap and into his darkening beard. “I think… we should go… faster.”
“Fuck off!” Anna spat.
“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Sam told him.
“What’s the matter?” Randy coughed. “Chicken?”
Sam shook his head. “No, I just…”
Randy’s hand went to the lever controlling the treadmill’s speed. He squinted at Sam as he nudged the yellow plastic handle forward a few notches. The thumping of his feet increased in both volume and frequency.
“Please return your treadmill to the previous speed,” said Mari.
“Oh, I think…” Randy began, but the rest of the sentence became just a series of breathless whispers. His cape flopped up and down with each frantic step, as every footfall brought him closer to the end of the treadmill belt.
“Randy, slow down,” Sam said. “It’s great. We’re all impressed, now slow down.”
Randy composed himself enough to spit out a full sentence in one breath. “I’m just getting started!” he growled, jamming the treadmill up a gear.
Everyone watching knew, of course, what was going to happen. It was the speed at which it happened that caught them off guard.
The moment he lifted his hand from the speed control lever, Randy lost his footing on the treadmill. His legs were whipped out behind him until he was horizontal in mid-air. His hands frantically grabbed for the treadmill’s controls, fell short, and then his upper half landed heavily on the belt.
The belt, now a whirring blur of speed, clearly resented his presence and catapulted him off, flipping his legs backward over his head. To his credit, Randy made not a sound as he was launched across the room, his face dragging on the rough carpet tiles. He hit the wall knees first, his momentum such that he left two rounded dents in the plaster, then another where his head hit a split-second later.
“I’m OK. I’m OK. Totally meant that,” he announced, jumping up.
Sam and Anna both dismounted their own treadmills, ignoring Mari’s barked protests.
One of the lenses of Randy’s goggles had been cracked, and there was a red mark running the whole
length of his nose, presumably from where his face had been dragged along the carpet.
Blood seeped through his jeans at both knees, and the palms of his hands were shiny, not with sweat, but from where the top few layers of skin had been worn down.
“You sure you’re OK?” Anna asked, bending over with her hands on her thighs as she gulped in sweet, sweet air.
“Couldn’t be better,” Randy said. He took a step toward them. His eyes widened in pain, and a strange, high-pitched babble burst from his lips.
A moment later, he hit the floor.
“OK, so maybe I could be a little better,” he admitted.
“We brought you some grapes,” said Anna. She clonked the half-empty wine bottle on the bedside table. “Kind of.”
Sam leaned on the railing at the foot of Randy’s hospital-style bed. He wasn’t sure whether to be worried or relieved that the complex came complete with its own state-of-the-art medical facilities. The fact they’d passed a door marked ‘Morgue’ on the way in was definitely giving him cause for concern, though.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“I feel great,” said Randy, although the low moan he punctuated the sentence with didn’t help convince them. “I don’t know why they’ve put me in here. I broke some ribs, that’s all. It’s nothing serious.”
“That’s pretty serious,” said Sam. He shook his head when Anna offered him a glass of wine.
“Ha!” Randy snorted. “You think that’s bad? Check this out.”
He threw back his covers to reveal that he was naked from the waist up. His left side was a collage of purples and blacks, but it was the rest of his torso that really took the breath away.
His chest was a checkerboard of scar tissue, some of it recent, but most of it old. It started with a jagged scar across the base of his throat and concluded with a series of slash marks just above his solar plexus.
His chest wasn’t the only part of him to have suffered. The skin was puckered around two round craters in his upper abdomen—gunshot entry wounds which hadn’t healed well, Sam guessed.
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