‘5’10 is actually average.’ I chipped in, earning a glare.
‘Yes, that was... well, I don’t think... brown hair and eyes. Yes. Well, I wouldn’t say charming...’ She listened for a few more seconds, sighed, and looked at me. ‘Take a step to your right, please. Miss O’Reilly wants a better look at you on the CCTV.’
I complied, and looked up, searching for the hidden camera. I was tempted to use one of my vision modes but didn’t know how changing my vision would look on camera. Seeing a small dome, I smiled and waved, and mouthed “Hi Anna”. I looked back at Cheryl, who was rapidly turning the same colour as sour milk. She nodded a few times, despite the fact I was the only person who could see her do so, and then she slowly, deliberately, lowered the phone handset back into the cradle.
‘Mr Anson.’ She refused to meet my eyes. ‘I’m so terribly sorry for the misunderstanding, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ I replied. I was about to go to the elevators, when a sudden urge overtook me, and I looked straight at her. ‘Out of curiosity, do you get many people pretending to be me coming in here?’
‘No, Mr Anson.’
‘...And you didn’t think to ask me for any ID.’
‘No, Mr Anson.’
Which, honestly, was a relief, as the only thing I had on me which had my photo was under a different name... but she didn’t know that.
‘Okay.’ I left it hang there, staring at her, with her still refusing to meet my eyes. ‘I’m going up to my office now.’
‘Yes, sir. Have a good day, Mr Anson.’
As I walked to the elevator, part of me wanted to turn around and apologise to Cheryl. The woman was only doing her job, after all. But another part of me was still furious. This is my Foundation, with my name on it, and who the hell is she to...
The elevator door hissed open, and I lost my train of thought.
‘So, Jason!’ Michael’s smile was as warm as ever, although confusion danced in his eyes. ‘I heard you had a little trouble getting into your own building?’
‘It’s nothing.’ I waved it off. ‘Just someone a little over-zealous, is all.’ I dropped onto the sofa in his office, which felt more comfortable than the one in mine. I tested it out by bouncing on it gently, and Michael caught my eye with a knowing smile.
‘I’ve spent some late nights on that sofa. It’s more broken in than yours.’
I nodded and looked around his office. My eyes were drawn to a counter which held an ornate silver frame, displaying a photo of him in a tuxedo and an attractive blonde woman in a wedding dress. I never knew he was married... ‘So, the Gnarler Act?’
‘Yeah.’ He picked up a pen and rolled it around his fingers, looking directly at me. ‘So, the Gnarlers... how much do you actually know about them?’
‘They’re surprisingly light.’ I supplied, thinking back to the one I had made fly through the billboard. Michael’s confused expression cleared up pretty quickly.
‘Okay... well,’ he continued, ‘Gnarlers are the side effect...or some may think was the actual intended effect... of the Danti poisoning us.’
‘I thought it was an accident.’
Michael shrugged. ‘We’ll never know. All we know is that some people got superpowers, and some people got turned into... well.’
‘Zombies.’ I responded.
‘That’s a huge oversimplification, but essentially... kind of.’ Michael sighed. ‘Whatever the Danti did, it only affected a very small percentage of people positively. Of course,’ he added wryly, ‘not many people would consider being a PI to be a positive thing. There were many physical manifestations of the Danti poison.’ He looked around conspiratorially and leaned closer. I did the same, nearly falling off the sofa. ‘I’ve even heard,’ he stage whispered, ‘that it affected some people in a psychological way. Creating multiple personalities, and only those personalities can access the physical manifestations of their powers.’
‘Really?’
Michael laughed, and rocked back in his chair. ‘I’ve also heard that the Danti live on the moon and that you’re secretly married to Sammy.’
‘I’d never marry Sammy. He never does the washing up.’
‘So it’s settled.’ He rolled his shoulders. ‘There are dozens of rumours about the Gnarlers, PIs... about how they’re all some False Flag conspiracy cooked up by Pro Danti people in the government to access more of their technology so we can go to space and colonise other worlds.’
‘Really?’ I mused over that. ‘Maybe we should look into space travel.’
‘I’ll have some people look into it. Maybe we can go to the moon and look for Danti.’ Michael made a note on his desk and clicked the pen off. ‘Getting back to the matter at hand, though?’
‘Sure. Sorry.’ I leaned back in the sofa.
‘The Gnarlers have a short life-span. Lemniscate have been studying them, and there’s a cell degradation at work which doesn’t appear in PIs. Within five years, the Gnarlers will be extinct.’
I nodded. ‘I remember that from our conversation earlier. And that’s public knowledge anyway.’
Michael grinned. ‘What you didn’t know... and what isn’t common knowledge... is that there are things happening.’
‘What “things”?’
‘Gnarlers are beginning to show signs of intelligence. Even basic, rudimentary intelligence.’
‘Like what?’ I felt a shiver threaten to run up my spine.
‘Well, they’re...’ He ran a hand over his hair. ‘They’re having children.’
‘They’re what?’
Michael picked up a manilla folder from his desk, and walked over to me, dropping it on my lap. I opened it and photos spilled out. Female Gnarlers walking around in shredded clothing, clearly in various stages of pregnancy, even to my untrained eye. Gnarlers carrying Gnarler children, each with the same disfigurements and deformations as the Gnarlers carrying them.
‘So Gnarler children are born with the Gnarler virus too?’
‘It would certainly appear that way.’ Michael took a breath. ‘However... although they may be born with the same physical afflictions, early tests seem to indicate that the Gnarler children don’t have the same cell degradation.’
‘Meaning?’
‘The life span of these new Gnarlers may be five years... it may be fifty.’ He looked me square in the eye again. ‘It may be eighty years. Or even more... we don’t know how this is going to affect them - the cell degradation may be cell regeneration. They may be functionally immortal.'
‘Oh! There are Superheroes like that.’
‘Really? Who?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I mean… in movies. TV shows. Cultural reference, never mind.’ I paused, thinking about the real issue Michael had just stated as fact seconds ago. ‘Wait...’
‘Yeah.’
‘So... are we going to be funding these babies, too?’
‘Possibly.’ He sighed, a deep and pained sound, and threw the pen back on his desk. ‘This is the real issue, here: people don’t see the Gnarlers as their problem. They did, once. During the war it was “Oh, no! These poor people.” and now it’s “Oh God, these hideous monsters are taking our resources.”’ He smiled weakly. ‘It’s a hot button issue for many reasons.’
‘And we’ve inherited it when I said we’d pay for them.’
‘Pretty much, yeah. And whilst lots of people will be grateful that their taxes are no longer going to pay for the unrelenting Zombie horde,’ his voice took on a tone of mocking disgust, ‘eventually people will resent us paying out money for Gnarlers which doesn’t end after five years, because the baby Gnarlers will probably live on a little while too, and ten become feral and...’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a minefield.’
I was about to respond when something caught my eye. One of the Gnarler women carrying a mutant baby looked...
I glanced at the framed photo again. Oh, hell.
Michael’s wife was a Gnarler.
He noticed my gaze and nodded once. �
�Lorraine. We would have been together 12 years this year if not for the...’ He gestured towards the photos. ‘Well.’
‘Maybe there’s a cure?’
‘Even if there were a cure for the physical, whatever part of her that made her her is gone.’ His tone invited no further conversation on the topic, and after a few more minutes of meaningless chit-chat I made an excuse to leave. From his vacant gaze and still posture when I left, I don’t think Michael even realised I had gone.
When I landed at City Hall, I barely raised an eyebrow. To some extent that was honestly a relief - I didn’t want to get mobbed by the masses. On the other hand, wasn’t I now the darling of the media? I was Fire Guardian! I was the PI who cared about the little people... okay, granted, I’m not a PI and I didn’t set out to defend the “little people”, I was just angry about how my date had turned out... but come on! Where was my adoring public?
As I pushed open the wood and glass doors and stepped inside, my hologram boots making a heavy clip as they touched the ground, a man leaning against a marble pillar peered at me.
‘Whatyawan’?’
‘I’m here to register myself as a Powered Individual.’
‘No, really?’ His expression never changed. ‘An’ here I thought you was here to sell Girl Scout cookies.’ And to think, some people say Americans don’t understand sarcasm. He looked me up and down. ‘So, whatyawan’?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘PI or Auggie?’
I thought about it for a second. Whilst I was definitely augmented and had no genetic based powers, people believed Fire Guardian to be a PI. If I admitted to being augmented, it may be easier to track me down, even with a fake name.
‘PI.’
The man nodded, as if he had expected that answer. ‘Down the hall, third right. PI registration.’
‘Thanks.’ I paused. ‘And have a nice day.’
‘Right back ‘atcha.’
I followed the man’s directions, and found myself before a dark wooden door, with a glass panel. There was a small bronze plaque, which bore the legend “Powered Individual Registration”. I pushed open the door and looked into the tiny room. A woman, elderly with frizzy hair and tortoise-shell glasses which sat on the bottom of her pointy, sharp looking nose, glared at me.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve come to register.’
‘Yeah, the ski mask gives it away, hon.’ The woman sighed and pulled out a piece of paper from her desk drawer. She lay it out in front of me, placing put a pen down next to it. I put down my fake passport as she spoke.
‘This is the standard P243 form for Powered Individual Registration.’ she recited, as if she had said it hundreds of times before. ‘This will duly deputise you into the United States police forces and allow you to make arrests anywhere in these United States.’
‘Anywhere?’ I interrupted
She sighed and eyed me warily. ‘Yes, anywhere in these United States.’
I tried to restrain a smile, thinking back to something Sammy had said to me. ‘So, if I went to the town of Sandwich...’
‘No, Mister....’ she peered at my passport. ‘Knight. You would not be a Sandwich Officer. This does not make you an official member of any law enforcement agency, nor does it grant you any special powers beyond recognised PI Arresting powers.’
‘That’s a shame. I was hoping to be a member of the Sandwich police. You know: “Freeze! Put down the condiments!”’ The woman’s blank look told me everything I needed to know about her sense of humour. ‘So,’ I continued hurriedly. ‘Realistically, this is just allowing me to do a citizen’s arrest?’
The woman pushed her glasses up and examined me carefully. ‘What’re your powers, Mr Knight?’
‘I can fly and project a sword made of fire.’
‘Do you know many citizens that can “project a sword made of fire”, Mr Knight?’
‘No.’
She tapped the paper. ‘Then fill in the form.’
Unkind thoughts flashed through my head as I began to fight against the long-time enemy of heroes everywhere: bureaucracy. I wrote neatly, filling in what I could, until I got to one section which worried me.
Describe the incident, using diagrams where appropriate, leading to the gaining of your abilities.
I had two choices: I could tell the truth on the form, or I could lie.
So I lied.
Stepping out into the bright sunny day, I looked around, feeling happy to have registered. There was a sort of clammy coldness that had been sitting uncomfortably in my stomach ever since I had found out about the need to register, and that moment had lifted. I suppose it was the same feeling that made me comfortable queuing up; the Britishness of bureaucracy may be evil, but it was also comforting.
‘I know you!’ A clipped, precise voice registered behind me. I turned around and came face to face with Aleph. Talk about the Britishness of bureaucracy.
‘You’re Fire Guardian!’ He continued. I nodded, and he put his hand out. ‘Allow me to be the first... assuming I am the first, of course... to welcome you to the Super Powered Community.’
‘Thanks.’ I took his hand and shook it firmly. ‘And yeah, you are. The first, I mean.’
‘Consider me overjoyed.’ I doubted that a non-Brit would have detected the note of sarcasm in his voice, and so I played along.
‘Gee, Mr Wright, it’s all so overwhelming.’ I successfully restrained my retch and saying “gee”.
‘I can understand that. Also, you appear to have me at a slight disadvantage.’ He paused dramatically. ‘After all, you know my name. Mister...?’ He trailed off significantly.
‘Knight. Jasper Knight.’
‘Knight and Wright!’ He exclaimed. ‘What a pair we make.’ He paused, waiting for me to nod. When I did, he nodded back. He seemed slightly disconcerted and kept peering at my face. I suppose without any facial expression to go on, he was at a loss. ‘I was going to see some friends of mine...’ he continued, stressing the “friends” in an exaggerated way. ‘Maybe you would like to join us?’
‘Friends as in...?’
‘Oh...’ He waved his hand in a vague manner, ‘Slipshot, Starmangler, TapeGirl...’
‘The Unstoppable Squad?’ I squeaked (in a manly fashion, I assure you), amazed. Aleph smiled, happy to finally have something to read about me.
‘Indeed. They’d be most interested in meeting you, Mr Knight, as well as making you an offer...’
I nodded again. ‘That really sounds swell, Mr Wright,’ I enthused. Swell? Ugh. ‘I just need to give my... sidekick a call ‘
‘Of course!’
‘Sami,’ I whispered. ‘Shut off audio.’
‘Compliance.’
‘Call Sammy.’
I heard a phone ring, and then a click.
‘Y’ello?’
‘Sammy!’
‘Hi Jay. What’s up? You all registered now?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m not heading back right away, I’m talking to Aleph-’
‘Mark Wright?’ Sammy squeaked.
‘Yeah. He’s asked me to join him and-’
‘The Unstoppable Squad?’ The excitement was palpable. ‘Oh my God! Jay, what if they ask you to join?’
‘They won’t.’
‘But...it’s the Unstoppable Squad! Aleph! TapeGirl! Oh, God... Starmangler!’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m on my way!’
I paused. ‘Uh...yeah, look mate. They want me to go alone? And also, using this fake identity, what would happen if they saw Jason Anson’s best friend show up?’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. Sorry, Sammy. Do you want me to... I dunno, ’ I wracked my brain. ‘..get you their autographs or something?’
‘No.’ Sammy sounded cold. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Look, Sammy-’
There was a faint click, cutting me off.
‘Call disconnected.’ Sami informed me. ‘Would you like me to redial?’
&
nbsp; ‘No. Reactivate external audio, please.’
‘Compliance!’
Aleph was looking at me with polite curiosity. ‘Well, Mr Knight?’
I nodded. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Lovely. My car is just around the corner....’
A car?
Half an hour later, I was sat in the Amphitheatre Of Justice.
Well. That sounds much grander than it was. However, I doubt “beige downtown apartment of justice” had exactly the same ring to it. It was nice enough, as far as apartments go. Comfortable sofa, nice reclining chairs... a big table! A very big round table in the room, upon which had been carved the names of the members of the Unstoppable Squad, in segments around the outermost edge of the table. It was all very Arthurian, and I suspected Mark Wright, the so-called “Smartest Man Alive” had a British hand in this. Watching him speak down to his fellow squad mates reminded me of something... something stuck in the back of my mind, a splinter of a memory that twinged with every glance, pulsed in time with the cadence of his voice... it was bugging the hell out of me. It almost made me forget how cold and hurt Sammy had sounded on the phone.
‘So.’ Aleph said imperiously, looking around the table as if he dared anyone to defy his ruling. ‘It’s settled, and the Squad has voted on it, three to one.’ I watched with mild interest as he glared at TapeGirl, who shook her head slowly. ‘Very well.’ He continued. ‘Even though it is not unanimous, the majority rules in favour of Thai food for lunch.’
A weird tension I hadn’t even notice building up evaporated, and the team, apart from TapeGirl, all smiled. ‘But I have IBS!’
‘Then order rice!’ Aleph snapped at her, and that’s when the splinter dislodged itself, and realisation struck; I knew where I had run into people just like Mark Wright before and was fairly certain I knew his old profession.
‘Next order of business,’ he continued, ‘is our guest.’ Four heads turned to look at me, and I waved.
‘Hello!’
‘This is Jasper Knight.’
‘Uhh... just Jasper, thanks.’
‘Mr Knight,’ Aleph continued, ‘has been making the news recently as Fire Guardian.’
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