Other People's Heroes (The Heroes of Siegel City) (4 page)

It was about two a.m. at this point and the worst crime I’d seen thus far was a stray dog peeing on a fire hydrant. I was ready to pack it in and go home when God smiled on me and the woman in the brown coat showed up. She had short-cropped blonde hair that fell into her face every so often, and she’d brush it aside with her blue-gloved hand. Her mask was familiar, but it wasn’t quite clicking where I’d seen this tiny woman before.

Standing on tiptoes, she glared into the two-way mirror that masked the ATM’s security camera, as if she was making sure it saw her. Then she tossed her coat aside and I realized where I’d encountered her before. It was that afternoon in the
Powerlines
office.

“Miss Sinistah,” I hissed.

The villainess craned her arm back and shattered the face of the ATM with a superhuman punch. Cash was flying everywhere. I didn’t know how she’d escaped Dr. Noble, nor did I care. It was going to feel
great
to bring in a Mask that had evaded our Beloved Champion.

As I scrambled down the fire escape, I began to feel the now-familiar Rush (it was important enough, I’d decided, to capitalize) come over me. My muscles toughened and the exhaustion drained from my limbs. I was ready to take her down.

Apparently, though, one of Miss Sinistah’s powers was
not
super-coordination, because my attempt to leap from the fire escape and land in a dramatic pose wound up with me dangling from the ladder by one foot and my head rattling around inside a garbage can.

My head clunked against the metal and I grunted, more from habit than from any actual pain. I hung there, banging my head against aluminum and smelling what must have been a mix of orange peels, coffee grounds and certain feminine hygiene products, and the only thing I could think of before a hand wrapped around my ankle and lifted me out was, “Well
this
is stupid.”

I stared at a pair of red boots and wondered why on Earth anyone would choose stiletto heels for combat. Despite the blood rushing to my head, I managed to bend my neck until I was looking at her knees. Then the blue trunks that only
just
covered her thighs. Then her bare midriff. And then slightly higher I saw...

“I’m up
here,
lunkhead,” she said.

With Herculean effort I bent my neck a bit farther so I could look into a pair of the iciest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

“And who are
you
supposed to be? I wasn’t told there were any new guys on this assignment.”

I twisted my leg, breaking free of her grip, and somehow rolled myself into a standing position. “I’m one of the
good
guys.” I grabbed the lid off a trash can and, using Sinistah’s own super-strength, drove my fist clean through it. This, along with my brilliant dialogue, was intended to be impressive. Instead, as Sheila doubtlessly would have informed me, I looked like a dork with my fist in a garbage can lid.

“One of the
good
guys? Please.” There was a new Rush and a shape descended from the sky. He took a spot next to Sinistah, folded his arms and frowned.

“Doctor Noble!” I suddenly felt lightheaded, trying to imagine myself slugging it out with Siegel City’s Sweetheart. “I knew you were a jackass,” I said, “but I didn’t think you’d be in league with the Malevolence Mob!”

“You can call me,” pause for dramatic effect, “the
Great Pretender
!” I pointed a thumb at the insignia on my chest. “And I’m going to use your own powers to put you both out of commission!”

“Know
what
?” I shouted. “Look, I don’t
need
to know any more than I already do. People deserve to know that their ‘hero’ is corrupt. You’re
not
walking away from here.”

I launched my fist at Noble’s jaw, but it stopped in midair some inches from his face. That’s when I knew guys with telekinetic powers really honked me off.

“Amateur,” he said in the tone of voice you use to describe intestinal discomfort. He squinted and I felt a pinching inside my neck. The world swam around me, dissolved into a haze, and I collapsed.

“What did you
do,
Todd?” I heard Sinistah ask.

ISSUE THREE

OFFICE PARTY

I awoke to the gentlest brushes on my cheek and a sweet voice saying, “Preten -- um -- honey? Whatever your name is, come on, wake up. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

The voice alone was enough of an incentive for me to pry my eyes open. As the universe returned to me I saw an incredible woman wearing Miss Sinistah’s costume. She looked warm, tender -- it was like having my own personal angel to welcome me back to consciousness. As my head began to clear I realized it
was
Miss Sinistah. Somehow I hadn’t recognized her without her mask.

Dear God, she was beautiful.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh, sure,” I said, hoping I sounded more sophisticated than I felt. “That’s the last time that train will try to hit
me.
”

“I’m sorry about To -- Doctor Noble. He’s not aware of this new technique we have called ‘talking to people’.”

“Oh, like
he
would have listened,” Noble grumbled, alerting me to the fact that Sinistah and I were not alone. I blinked a few more times, extinguishing the sleep in my eyes, and I was in an office, lying back in a swiveling chair in front of a desk. I was turned to the side so I could see the door to my right and the desk to my left. Noble was sitting on a couch next to the door, mask down, moping. With his mask off I saw that he had, in addition to his nasty attitude and ugly, stupid eyes, one massive eyebrow marching across his forehead. Actually, that’s not doing it justice -- it looked like his lauded aliens had grafted a mutant caterpillar to his face while they were busy giving him his powers. It felt slightly gratifying.

I could still feel the Rush coming from Noble and Sinistah (actually, I felt considerably more than just the Rush from Sinistah), but I was also feeling more power hitting me from the left. Standing next to a desk was a woman in magenta robes with a blood-red medallion around her neck. Her skin was a lighter shade than her clothing but still quite a satisfactory purple and her eyes were white and pupil-less -- she looked like some bizarre mutation of Little Orphan Annie. Her pointed ears probably could have been covered by her hair if not for the fact that she was completely bald. A guy who didn’t work for a superhero news rag probably would have found her familiar but be unable to place a finger on her identity. One of the first things you go through when you get a job at
Powerlines,
though, is an intense rundown of all known Capes and Masks in the city -- this girl in particular, because people had an interesting tendency to “forget” her. She was the mysterious heroine known as Mental Maid.

And, of course, sitting behind the desk, gnawing on an imported
la repulsiva
cigar, was my old pal Morrie Abadie.

“Mister Cordwood,” he said, “a pleasure to speak to you again.”

“For the last time, it’s
Cor
wood, not -- hey! How did you --” My hand went up to my face and traced the outline of my domino mask, still firmly set.

“You don’t
really
think that’s much of a disguise, do you?” he chuckled. “I can still see your eyes, nose, cheekbones -- every distinguishing feature. That kind of mask gives you about as much anonymity as a pair of glasses.”

“Yeah? What about guys like Hotshot? Jackal? The Marauder? It’s good enough for
them.
”

“
They
have a gal like Mental Maid to make sure nobody pays too much attention. You don’t got that yet, kid. Even half-masks wouldn’t protect you for long without her doin’ her thing.” He expelled a gray-blue ring of smoke into the air from between his fleshy lips. “So, ‘Pretender,’ what do you do, anyway?”

My intended response was to invite him to perform a certain anatomical impossibility, but instead I found myself answering, “I can duplicate other people’s powers if I’m in close range.”

Morrie’s eyes lit up and, for the first time, I detected a hint of cunning behind them to match his greed and lack of scruples. “
Really
?” he said. “And can you do
anybody’s
powers?”

“Everyone I’ve tried so far.”

“Yeah? Gimme a list.”

“Miss Sinistah. Flambeaux. DoubleGum Man. The Gunk, now that I think about it. Doctor Dunderhead here.” Noble blanched at that, but I saw a sly grin trace its way across Sinistah’s face.

“And I’m not sure how they work,” I finished, “but I can
feel
Mental Maid’s powers running through me right now.” A light went off.
“That
’
s
how you’re doing this, aren’t you?
She’s
forcing me to answer your questions.”

“Better than any truth serum,” Morrie said. “So how long have you been aping powers off my boys?”

“I only realized I
could
do it today,” I said. “But I think I did it once when I was a kid. When Lionheart saved me from a fire.”

“What are you babbling about? Look, I don’t know how you warped these heroes into your schemes, but if you’re going to kill me just go ahead and do it or I’ll --”

Morrie and Noble exploded into laughter. Sinistah shot them both a dirty look.

“What? What did I say?”

“I’m sorry,” Sinistah said. “They
never
act civil to people from the outside.”

“What the hell is going
on
?” I shouted.

“Morrie?” There was a knock at the door and a man in red, black and gold poked his head in. Even if it weren’t for the sunburst emblem on his belt buckle and the freshly-ridiculed half-mask, I would have recognized this guy. He was Hotshot, the last active member of the now-defunct LightCorps, the team Lionheart had founded.

“The
hell
...” I continued.

“Was
that?
” I added for clarity.

“That was Hotshot goin’ over his next fight with Minister Malice. And it’s a damn good thing, too. Usually it’s like pulling teeth to get any decent rehearsal time outta Mister ‘I Was In the Original LightCorps...’”

“No,” I said. “I mean... what the
hell
was
that
?”

“It’s like having a parrot isn’t it?” Noble smirked.

“He’s a
hero
!” I shouted. “He’s not supposed to be in cahoots with people like Minister Malice or... or
you
.”

Morrie sighed. “You still don’t get it, do you kid?”

“What is there to
get
?”

“It’s all a fake. A fraud. The battles are staged. The villains are actors. The stuff you’ve spent your life following and reporting on has all the legitimacy of a pro wrestling match.”

“
Liar!”

“Afraid not. There hasn’t been a real superhero battle in Siegel City for nearly ten years.”

LUNCH BREAK

Morrie’s office, as it turned out, was part of a much larger underground complex that housed dorms, studios, laboratories, various workout, training and rehearsal areas and, apparently, a first-rate cafeteria, all buried in the superstructure of Simon Tower. Miss Sinistah took me for some food to ponder the offer Morrie had laid on the table.

We were in the food line with about a dozen other Capes and Masks getting their late-night lunches. Many more were already seated and eating. This was a nocturnal crowd, I realized. I recognized the Squid and DeVinity right away, and Merlin Junior was sitting with his legs crossed, hovering along and picking up food as he went.

Swordplay and Whipstar, supposedly mortal enemies, were in line ahead of us, laughing and clapping each other on the back like they were kids in summer camp, and the Justice Giant had his massive arms wrapped around the death-masked Solemna, a villain I
knew
had tried to kill him at least seven times in the past week. I’d even managed to get a telephone quote from the guy: “When I get my hands on that horror movie reject, I’m going to send her back to whatever unmarked grave she crawled out of.”

He was saying considerably different things to her in the cafeteria line. “More pudding, sweets?” for instance, and, “Of course I don’t mind if your mother comes for a visit.” I kept expecting Rod Serling to make an appearance.

Aside from the sudden surprises I’d gotten just from a
visual
standpoint, I was feeling a stronger influx of power than I’d ever known before. Each time one of these guys walked past me I felt a new Rush, a new power, that faded as they moved away. Now I could walk through walls. Now I could disintegrate them. Now I could speak any language ever written. Now I could dance the Alligator faster than anybody in the world.

Turning my attention at last to the food, I found a few more items of interest. While the cafeteria featured all the normal foods you would expect -- sandwiches, chicken, salads and the like -- there was an equally plentiful assortment of foods I’d never seen. Glowing fruits and crystalline lumps. Bubbling metallic soups and milkshakes of no color found in nature.

Merlin Junior levitated a plate of sky-blue mush onto his tray, and further down the line I saw Fourtifier munching on what looked like a broken shard of stained glass. Icebergg, at least, had
human
foods, but what an assortment: hot peppers and pizza with the cheese still bubbling, a sizzling enchilada and a café latté that was more steam then coffee.

“What are you looking at, new meat?” he asked in an arctic tone.

“I was just... admiring your dinner,” I said.

“You wasting time with punks like
this
on top of your other nasty habits now, Sinistah?”

I nodded, but I was getting the feel Sinistah had that impression of just about everybody. “So why does he eat like that, anyway?”

“Keeps him from freezing up,” Sinistah said as she placed a tuna melt on her plate. “Although frankly, I think it’s psychosomatic.” Come on.”