Kingdom of Heroes (28 page)

Realizing that going through the entire complex was going to be more complicated and time consuming than he had planned, Adam armed the machine’s last seven missiles from the launcher on its back and aimed them at the center of the floor. The rockets launched, single file, one after the other, each opening a hole in the subsequent floor.

After the last missile fired, Adam looked through the smoke and debris and into a shortcut that led straight to the fourth sub basement. The Iron Knight jumped through the newly created hole to where The Agent’s vault waited for him.

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“Is that your phone ringing?” The Detective asked as he reached over and opened the glove department.

“I’m not physically here, sooo…couldn’t be mine,” Emily answered.

The Detective pulled the ringing phone out of the glove box; it was an old style flip phone, low tech, basic, the kind he used to carry. “Afraid you were going to say that.”

“It probably belonged to the truck’s owner. You stole his truck; he’s probably just calling to see if you’re going to bring it back.”

“I didn’t steal it.” The Detective stared at the number on the phone’s caller ID: Unavailable. “Truck was abandoned. I found it.”

“Found, steal, it’s all the same. You’re not going to answer it are you?”

He smiled at her. “There is a huge difference between finding and stealing. And of course I’m going to answer it.”

The Detective flipped the phone open, placed the receiver against his ear, and spoke. “Hello,” he said nonchalantly, as if he had answered this phone everyday of his life.

“Hello, Detective,” replied the voice from the phone, a voice The Detective instantly recognized. “It’s been far too long since we last spoke.”

“What’s it been now, Agent, twenty-four hours or so? How’s tricks?”

“You always were one for the witty banter, Detective.”

“It gets me through. Something you need?”

“I see you’re on your way back to the city, back to my city.”

The Detective looked up to the top of every light pole and street sign he passed, noticing the white camera located on top of each. As he drove by the next one, he waved. “If you get a good shot of me, be sure to send me an eight by ten and a few wallets. Good pictures are so hard to come by these days.”

“I watched you at the intersection, Detective. You sat there for so long; I was afraid you would take the easy road and run.”

“And miss seeing your pretty face? Heaven forbid.”

“I thought you might have been contemplating abandoning your mission and the agreement we made. You remember your agreement, don’t you? You bring me Barren’s killer, and I grant you your freedom. I was afraid you would attempt to run before finishing the mission, and I would be forced to have you arrested, or worse, on sight.”

The Detective smiled. It wasn’t his usual smirk; it wasn’t flirty. It was the smile of a man with nothing left to give and nothing left to lose. That plus the fact he found it fun to fuck with the most powerful man in the country. “Oh, I remember my mission. Let me update you on the status. All of The Seven, minus you and Fire, are dead. Several guards, a few police officers, and at least one teleporter, have also been killed. And if Psychosis and his metal girlfriend had any house pets or an ant farm, it’s safe to say they didn’t make it out either. Your adopted son, Adam, has transferred his subconscious into one of Barren’s suits, and he has systematically murdered all of your little group, except for Fire, of course. He let her live. Probably just because she’s such a super nice lady. And now, literally as we speak, he’s on his way to murder you.”

“And you, Detective? How do you plan to make yourself relevant in our little drama?”

“Me?” The Detective answered, his tone more sarcastic with each word he spoke. “I’m just going to stop off for some popcorn, then come by and watch the show. Nothing says entertainment like watching a despot being murdered by his own mechanical killing machine adopted son. It’s better than Hamlet on Ice.”

“I give you credit, Detective. Your knack for witty is top of the line. You remind me of a super villain I faced early in my crime fighting career, The Jokester. He, too, saw himself as a comedian, always using his banter to distract his opponents. And I really must say, he was quite amusing, up until I threw him off the top of a forty story building. Like him, Detective, you won’t be quite so funny when you’re dead.” The Agent paused for the briefest of moments, then continued. “Come to my tower, Detective. I will be waiting for you there. Let us finish this, all of this, like men.”

The phone went dead, and The Detective took it away from his ear. “Well fuck me,” he said as he flipped the phone closed. “Everyone’s a critic.”

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Journal Entry

[Found on page 82]

Note: The following is a transcription of a video found on Rogers’ computer, recorded from The Ice Queen’s penthouse in Metro City. The video shows The Agent and The Ice Queen standing in her large living room, discussing the file of paperwork The Agent has in his hands.

The Agent: (handing Ice Queen the file) Look at this.

Ice Queen: What is it?

Agent: Just look.

Ice: (sitting on the couch and looking at the paperwork) What the hell is this, Agent? Who the fuck is The Truth and Red Hot?

Agent: (looking down at her) I had hoped you would know.

Ice: Why would I know? What exactly are you trying to say here?

Agent: Look through the messages. This person who calls themselves “Red Hot” has been trading in government secrets for almost two years, sending these little messages back and forth, letting this little rebel group know all of our plans before we have even finalized them. Now I say again, I hoped you would know who this person is.

Ice: It can’t be. She wouldn’t.

Agent: She would. She has.

Ice: (slamming the folder down on the couch beside her) And how do you know for sure? It could be Barren; it could be Hope or Psychosis. Maybe one of them is planning a coup or some shit.

Agent: You know better than that, Ice: you know who the weak link in our little group is, and who it has always been. I’ve been tracking these messages for a while now. She’s done a superb job of covering her steps, but even the best are known to make the occasional mistake. It is her. And you know what you have to do.

Ice: (looking up at him, crying, pleading) Please. I can’t. She’s my partner; she’s the closest thing to family I have left in the world. There has to be another way.

Agent: There is, but it won’t be easy.

Ice: I’ll do anything.

Agent: First, you have to eliminate all of these rebel cells. I don’t care if you do it yourself or if you pay to have it done. I want them gone, and I want it to be public and bloody. I want anyone else in this country, when they consider rebelling, to remember what you did to these cells, and I want the memory to instantly change their minds.

Ice: It’ll be done. No question. I will make it happen.

Agent: Second, you will talk Fire into stepping down from The Seven. Tell her to get married, have some kids, whatever you have to say, but I want her out of my government. If you convince her to do this, she and her sister will be safe from me. There will be no retaliation, for now at least.

Ice: I will. I promise. You don’t have to hurt her or Emily. I will take care of it all.

Agent: (walking out of the room) See that you do.

(End video)

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“What are you going to do?” Emily asked. The look on her face, despite the fact she wasn’t really there, managed to convey the nervousness he knew she was feeling.

The Detective turned to his right and looked at her. “I’m going to go to Adam’s building, get this book you want, then go and see our illustrious chancellor. I’ve never been invited to a ‘tower’ before. Sounds like fun.”

“You know it’s a trap, don’t you?”

“No ma’am, I just fell off the turnip truck yesterday.” He lightly chuckled. “Of course I know it’s a trap. He wants me to come there. No. He needs me to come there. It’s all part of his plan. I don’t know why yet, but I know he needs me to be in his presence.”

She shrugged and frowned. He was waiting for the pout to come back.

“And you’re going to give him what he wants?” she asked. “Just like that?”

He shrugged back at her. “You got any better options?”

They drove along in silence for a few miles. The rain continued to batter the old truck, and the wind blew it from one side of the road to the other. Lightning flashed, illuminating the now dark sky, and the accompanying thunder seemed to shake the world around him. As violent as the storm was, he found himself liking it. It matched the way he felt inside, angry, distressed, cold, alone. Alone that was except for his imaginary friend sitting beside him.

“I’m not---” she started to say before he interrupted.

“I know; I know,” he replied as he saw the exit sign for Downtown Metro City. “You’re not imaginary. Besides if I were going to make an imaginary friend, I would make him awesome and name him Uncle Bobo.”

“Uncle Bobo?” she asked, a smile slowly crawling across her pretty face. “You’d really name him Uncle Bobo?”

“Sure would.” He slowed down and veered the truck to the right, all the while mentally calculating how far they were from Adam’s building. “Not to change the subject on the validity of naming imaginary friends, but have you come up with a brilliant alternative plan yet? We’re about ten minutes away, so now, beautiful, would be the time to share it.”

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“Kill it!” Adam heard several soldiers scream in unison as he walked through the fourth sub-level, making his way towards the vault that all of The Agent’s men tried in vain to protect. He raised the wrist gun, mowing through each of them, the bullets tearing them in half, ripping the limbs away from their bodies, leaving them decimated and dying. The machine stepped on one of the soldier’s heads as he walked, leaving nothing but a blood and brain stained footprint in its wake.

Adam piloted the armor through the carrion, even as the occasional lone soldier would try valiantly to slow him down, launching a rocket or tossing a grenade in the machine’s general direction, though neither made an impact on the machine, leaving less than a scratch on The Iron Knight’s exterior, doing nothing to damage it nor slow down its trajectory.

After laying waste to every guard who stood in its way, the machine reached the vault itself. Adam scanned the container’s outer door. Almost five feet of solid steel and weighing right at twenty-two tons, there was nothing the armor had in its payload that could hope to make an impact. He looked around; a keypad sat to the right of the massive door, and Adam knew it would have been designed for only The Agent himself to gain entrance. None of the now dead cadre of soldiers would have been allowed the privilege of knowing the combination, not that there were any left alive to share such information.

Adam piloted the machine to the keypad, and without hesitation, began to type in the pass code. He knew it without question, without even thinking, knowing the one thing in the world that truly mattered to The Agent, the one thing he actually gave a damn about. Adam entered it in, one letter at a time: METROCITY.

With a loud rumble, the ground shook ever so slightly as the giant door began to slowly raise. Once he had the head clearance, Adam piloted the machine through the doorway and into the once secure room. Walking into the room felt like walking into a version of The Agent’s greatest hits. Several glass display cases filled the room, each containing different mementos from The Agent’s career, both prewar and post: The Jokester’s signature playing card, Chance’s once lucky coin, Eagle Eyes’ bow, The Scarlet Widow’s black mask, each a trophy of someone The Agent had either put away or sent to an untimely demise, but on the other side of the room was the only memento that mattered, the one he had brought the machine here for.

In the last display case, placed there all alone, not sharing the space with any other trophy, was a small canister, similar in appearance to an asthma inhaler, containing the last of the country’s supply of anti-mutagen. There would have been more, but Adam himself, all those years ago during the war, had told the machines to cease production, telling them their work was done, forcing them to discontinue the process that theoretically could have momentarily depowered every super in the nation. Adam knew that this canister, this nominal piece of metal and plastic containing the smallest amount of pressurized gas, was the key to killing The Agent. It could take away his powers, leaving him as defenseless as a normal, leaving him as vulnerable as any other person on the planet, just as prone to pain and death as all the people The Agent himself had sacrificed during his march to power.

The Iron Knight rammed its fist through the glass and shattered the display case. A compartment on the machine’s left leg opened; it bent down and picked up the canister. Adam placed the precious cargo into the storage area just before the compartment closed, leaving the gas safe and protected. Adam turned the armor around, and The Iron Knight began to make its way out of the depository and back to Metro City, back to The Agent, back to one final confrontation before this could all come to an end.