Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (18 page)

She took the package and gingerly
began removing the protective wrappings.  She pulled the last level free to
reveal…herself; an action figure of herself, carrying a toy version of her
grappling hook gun.  Her small toy face pulled back in a grimace of villainous
rage. 

He pointed at it.  “So, bit of
backstory.  When they did that figure of your dad?  Remember?  Well, they were
going to do a figure for all of the Consortium people, then they realized that
you’d probably sue them…so they never released them.  They had already sent
them to us to approve though, so I
knew
there was one of you somewhere out
there.  So, is the only ‘
Grappling Attack Harlot
’ figure they assembled
before the line was cancelled.”

She looked down at the figure, at a
total loss for words.  “I can’t…that’s just…”  She jumped to her feet.  “THIS
IS SO
AWESOME!
”  She hugged him…possibly too tightly as he made a
choking sound…then she ran over to a glass case on the wall and carefully
placed the prototype figure onto a shelf next to a Fabricator toy.  She stood
back and beamed at it.  “She looks so BADASS!  Oh man!  Girls would have gone
NUTS for her!”

He nodded.  “Yeah…yeah, she’s
something
alright.  I’m sure the figure would have been a uh…been a
big
seller…despite
the fact that no one knows who the hell you are…”

She raced back to the couch and
turned around so that she could keep her eyes fixed on her new toy.  “Wow.” 
She looked over at him.  “Thank you SO much, Wyatt!  I’ve ALWAYS wanted to have
my own villain figure!  Did the seller have the others too?  Because I know
that Cynic and Poacher would be totally down for buying theirs as well.  And
Holly…”  She made an excited sound as she thought of something else.  “Oh my
god!  How cool would an electronic Tyrant with little blinking Princess
What’s-her-face have been, huh!?!  That would have been
amazing!
  Do you
know if the guy had anything else?”  

“Yeah, I figured you’d like that.” 
He paused.  “I don’t know where the others ended up.  I knew where that one was
because…umm…it….it somehow got mixed in with my stuff at some point.”  He
paused.  “I don’t know how that happened.”  He shifted in his chair uneasily.  “…Obviously.” 
He scowled at the TV, trying to change the subject for some reason.  “Oh,
that’s just
laughably
inaccurate.”

She turned to watch as Fabricator
and his father hugged on the cartoon.  “What is?”

“My parents didn’t believe in
displays of affection.  Hell, one time, the only way I knew my dad had been
replaced by an evil duplicate, was because it asked about my day.”  He shook
his head, sounding utterly serious.  “Pete and I knew right then and there that
it wasn’t dad.”

“Where was your dad then?”

He shrugged disinterestedly, his eyes
never leaving the screen.  “Beats me.  He was kidnapped or something, if I
recall correctly.  It all kind of blends together, and he was never exactly
forthcoming with the details.”  He paused, as if remembering something sad. 
“In retrospect, I think I actually knew it wasn’t him
long
before I was
ready to admit it, but I was willing to pretend.  The Evil Him was going to let
me join Little League.  Dad never gave me permission.  That…that would have
been nice…” 

Harlot had no experience with the
idea of being alone in anything.  Her whole life, the problem was keeping
people
out
of her business, not trying to get them to pay attention to
her.  If she went somewhere, she was sure to be followed or accompanied by at least
one or two other Consortium members.  That was both the good part and bad part
of living with a group of paranoid, overprotective people.  They were
always
sure that you were either leaving to rat them out to the authorities, going
somewhere fun, doing something destined to get yourself in trouble, or they simply
liked snooping into what you were up to.  In any of those cases, they felt the
need to invite themselves along.

True, people here had a tendency to
work
alone, but they never
lived
alone.  If you were doing a job,
it was usually off-limits.  If you were on a date or going on vacation, it was always
open season.  Your date had better like super-villains, because the theater you
take him/her to, is going to be
filled
with them.  Hell, they would probably
carpool there, and then ask your date for gas money.  

With the exception of his brother, Wyatt
seemed to have spent his whole life alone though.  She found that terribly sad.

He was silent for a long moment and
then cleared his throat.  He pointed to the TV.  “…Hey, what the hell is that
green thing?”

She forgot about her sorrow over
Wyatt’s apparently unhappy childhood, and refocused on the TV.  “That’s the
Fantastilope.  It’s sort of a green monster thing that beeps a lot, turns
invisible and helps you on your adventures.”

He watched the creature for a few
more minutes.  “No…I mean
what the hell is it?”

She went back to watching her
Harlot figure.  Damn that thing was cool…  “I just told you.  The animators
decided that you guys needed some sort of animal sidekick, so they stuck him in
there.”  She pointed to a wall behind him.  “I have the character designer’s
original sketches of him if you want to see them.”

Wyatt watched it, his mouth falling
open.  “Wow…that thing is really, really disturbing…”

She reached for the DVD remote.  “Fine. 
I’ll turn it off.”

His hand came down on hers.  “No,
no.  Leave it on.  I want to see how this turns out.  I’m betting that
Monstross’ secret base is under that abandoned whaling station.”  He turned to
look at her, not bothering to remove his hand. “But there’s no way the whalers
will help the LLL.  They’re evil.”

She laughed and leaned back in her
chair, enjoying the fact that he was now holding her hand. 
Kind of
.  She
looked down at his large hand which was still resting on hers, and smiled in satisfaction. 
This couldn’t possibly have worked out better if she had planned it. She
snuggled down into the sofa, scooting closer to him, and began to plot how she
could get him to put his arm around her…  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and
see, won’t we?”

A shepherd saw the calm
sea, and longed to become a merchant.  He sold his flock, invested in a cargo
of dates, and set sail.  But a great tempest came on, and he was forced to throw
all of his merchandise overboard to keep the ship from sinking.  Not long
afterwards back on shore, when someone passed by and observed the unruffled
calm of the sea, he interrupted them and said, "It is again in want of
dates, and therefore looks quiet."  The moral of the story?  Trust not in
him that seems a saint.

Oswald Cullen Dimico AKA “OCD” sat
in the waiting room of the Freedom Squad boardroom, staring at the ugly wood
paneling.  Two-hundred and nine individual panels made up the room.  He knew
the exact number, because he counted them whenever he was in here.  …He
suddenly found himself compelled to count them again though, just to make sure
they were all still there, and that he hadn’t miscounted them the three other
times he had done so since he arrived for the meeting twenty minutes ago.

Oz hated wood.  The problem with
natural materials was that they were porous, and porous materials were absolute
HOTBEDS of germs and parasitic activity.  Sitting in this room with its oak
paneled walls was the equivalent of lounging in a dump somewhere, or chewing on
a used condom you found on the sidewalk outside of a sex club.  It was filthy
and disgusting, but the short-sighted management at the Freedom Squad refused
to allow him clearance to steam-clean the place more than once every other
week.

He shook his head sadly at their
thoughtlessness.

If they truly cared at
ALL
about their employees, they wouldn’t allow a breeding ground for bacteria
anywhere
near
the members.  The paneling should be removed and replaced
with some form of replaceable plastic cover.  Sterile.  Clean.  Disposable.  As
it was…he paused, realizing that his arm had accidentally touched the armrest
on the FABRIC chair they were making him sit on. 
FABRIC.
  Why not just
make him sit inside the bowl at a port-a-potty or something.  Fabric ABSORBED
dirt, for Christ’s sake. 
Everyone
knew that.  You could never get cloth
sterile; the stains ran too deep.  His hand absently began tapping on his leg.

He looked down at his shirtsleeve
which would now have to be professionally disinfected.  Maybe burned…
Definitely
burned.  Damn.  He liked this shirt too.

Across from him, Charlie McQueen
AKA “Mr. Fahrenheit” waited to speak to the board, as well, an icepack still on
his head from the blow he had received in his fight with Fabricator.  The man
glared at him.  “Can you stop counting the fucking walls, Oz?  You’re driving
me NUTS!”

Oz ignored him.  They were here to
have a discussion with the board about Fabricator’s recent betrayal.  Oz had
personally never met the man, so he had no feelings on him one way or the
other.  He had heard good things though, so it was a shame to see him come to
such a fate.  But if he was a villain now, he’d have to be shut down with the
others.  It couldn’t be helped.

Dick Jones AKA “Mystery Lad” put
his
Heroes for Kids
magazine down.  “I don’t even think they know we’re
out here, Charlie.  I think they’re having a party or something in there, and
don’t know we’re waiting.”

Mr. Fahrenheit removed the icepack
from his face again and glared at his companion.  “I
told you
that I
just talked with Nigel and reminded him that we’re waiting, okay?  YOU want to
be the one to barge in there and tell them we’re sick of waiting, go ahead. 
Personally, I don’t want Honey Badger ripping my head off, thanks.”

Rembrandt AKA…“Rembrandt”, stared
down at his pad of artist’s paper, paying them very little attention.  “Badger
can blow me.  I refuse to be afraid of a man who’s dressed like a Berenstien
Bear.”  He drew a few more lines and the sketch of the naked redhead on his art
pad began to gyrate suggestively on top of a burned pile of debris he had
labeled: 
Everything
.

Mystery Lad glared at him.  “You’re
really showing up to a meeting with the bosses hung over, you crazy jackass?”

“I’m not hung over today,
Dick
.” 
Rembrandt shook his head and laughed.  “I’m just a little tired is all.  Your
mom was banging on the door to my room all night, and it kept me awake. 
Finally, I just had to get up and let her
out
.”

Mr. Fahrenheit chuckled.

Mystery Lad pointed a finger at
him.  “That is NOT true.  You are making stuff up now right now, and it’s
not
cool
.”

Oz finished counting; the panels
were all still in place.  For the moment.  He absently began straightening the
magazines again and debated how to best remove the dust from the cover of the
top magazine in the pile.  If he wiped it off with a tissue, the dirt would
then be on HIS person until he could find a way to properly dispose of it.  If
he blew on the cover, the particles would scatter and be inhaled; infecting his
lungs.  In fact…particles of dust were mostly made up of skin cells of the
people in the room…and would be inhaled through his nose and become lodged on
the membranes inside his head.  Tiny pieces of his companions would be touching
his brain.  Every smell was simply smaller toxic particles, all destined to
become part of his body if he wasn’t vigilant in keeping them from invading
him.  He had images of little piles of microscopic pieces of other people,
heaping up inside his skull, like dust bunnies he could never clean….

Mr. Fahrenheit put his boots up on
the coffee table and Oz gasped, too shocked to speak.  Charlie looked confused
at the objection, but then removed his feet, looking contrite.  Oz made a
mental note to throw THOSE magazines away; they were too contaminated to ever
be safely read again.  You might as well try to read used toilet paper, but
Charlie didn’t appear to notice. 

“They got five more minutes, and
then I’m outta here and you guys can deal with them yourselves.”  Rembrandt
drew a pack of gum on his art pad, and then reached his hand through the paper
to pull it out.  He popped a piece into his mouth.  “I don’t want to go to this
meeting
anyway.
I don’t know why we’re even discussing this.
 
Wyatt
always was an annoying, sanctimonious prick.  I’m glad he’s evil now, so I can
kick his ass and not have to deal with any paperwork for fighting another
member here.” 

Mystery Lad glared at him
disapprovingly.  “You know that Architect schedules these things, man.  If the
meeting is running late, it must be for a good reason.”

Rembrandt rolled his eyes.  “Mr.
Wizard can blow me too.  I refuse to listen to a
normal
person with no
powers, no matter how clever he claims to be, or how rich he is.  Asshole’s
more blender than man anyway.  I wouldn’t give a fuck about that robot if he
constructed an atomic powered fuck-giving
machine
, attached it to my
balls, and cranked the dial to
11
.”

Mr. Fahrenheit took a sip from his
UNCOVERED beverage…the liquid inside was exposed to all manner of debris which
could fall into it without difficulty.  Bugs, dust, germs;
anything
. 
Charlie didn’t seem to be thinking about the foul slurry he was pouring down
his throat though.  Drinking from an uncovered cup was equivalent to upending a
full garbage can and drinking the liquid which gathered at the bottom.  Filthy
and disgusting.  “He’s got a good name though.  Not like ‘Honey Badger’, which
is just stupid.”  He snorted.  “Oh, look out folks!  It’s a weasel with a
girly-sounding name coming to kill me!”

Mystery Lad momentarily put down
the pencil he was using to connect the dots to discover the face of the hidden
hero in his magazine; taking a break from searching for number twenty-three.  “I
think it sounds cool. 
I’m the goddamn Honey Badger!
”  He nodded.  “I
like it.”

Charlie took the pack off his face
and glared at the other man in contempt.  “YOUR name is
Mystery Lad
though,
so what do
you
know?”

Mystery Lad crossed something out,
apparently mistaking the number twenty-FOUR, for his long sought after
twenty-three, and now the hidden hero in his puzzle had a huge protuberance
sticking out from his half-finished forehead.  “What’s wrong with Mystery Lad?”

Charlie dumped more sugar into his
noxious beverage of soupy death.  “Gee…let me think…could it be because you’re
FORTY-TWO, Dick?  Getting a little old for the ‘lad’ thing, aren’t we?”

Mystery Lad finished connecting all
the dots in his puzzle, a look of triumph on his face as the hidden hero was
revealed to be Captain Dauntless.  “Age has nothing to do with it.  The name
comes with the whole sidekick gig.  Besides, even if I WANTED to change it,
they won’t let me.  You know the deal.”  He turned the page of the magazine. 
“I think that…”

The door opened, causing a wave of
air to sweep through the room, dislodging all manner of particles from the floor
and walls, and propelling them towards Oz with great force.  It was like
turning on the vacuum in reverse and sitting directly in front of the hose as
it shot out a sandstorm of lethal specks of filth.  Hell, putting the hose in
your
mouth!
  It was the same thing!  The dust would be dislodged and end
up in your mouth as you inhaled it; thus, it was the same as licking the
floor.  He held his breath and tried to shut his eyes to keep them as free of
contaminants as he could.  The last time he had been in here, he sneezed two
days later and so he was always ESPECIALLY careful now. 

Badger’s butler Nigel St. Claire
stood in the doorway and cleared his throat. “If you gentlemen would please come
with me, the board will see you now.”

The group was escorted into main
meeting room of the Freedom Squad.  Around the conference table were assembled
the five member board of the Squad, and scattered empty spaces which were
formally occupied by board members who had died or departed over the years.  The
board had long ago stopped replacing members, as it allowed for quicker
decision-making, since they only had to listen to their
own
thoughts on
the matter without taking things to endless debate.  Personally, OCD would have
LIKED more debate on some issues, as he most definitely would NOT have voted
for some of the things the Freedom Squad had been doing of late.  He was not a
board member though, and thus had to simply listen and obey.

Roger Clark AKA “Captain Dauntless”
looked over the mission report that Mr. Fahrenheit had prepared for the board. 
OCD had not been part of that
particular
operation, but it was his day
in the rotation today, and thus, he still had to explain why a mission he had
not been a part of, had failed so completely.  It was an entirely
irrational
procedure.  His eyes wandered over to the FILTHY venetian blinds and he
absently began counting the number of windows on the building opposite the
Fortress of Liberty.  Again.

Dauntless put down the folder and
smiled at them in commiseration. “Sounds like you boys had yourselves quite a
night, huh?”

Oz shook his head.  “No, Sir.  I
was not a part of that mission.  I’m just here because the standard procedure
is that everyone on duty has to report for mission debriefing, and I’m on duty
today.”

Dauntless frowned.  “Oh…”  He
pointed at Rembrandt, Mr. Fahrenheit and Mystery Lad.  “So, it was just the
three of you then?”

Mystery Lad shook his head.  “No,
Sir.  Me and Brandt weren’t…”

Randall Ratell AKA “The Honey
Badger” cut him off.  “I’m the goddamn
Honey Badger
, son; what makes you
think
I GIVE A SHIT!?!
  I don’t care who was there and who wasn’t, you
boys screwed the pooch last night and something’s got to be done about it.”

Marc Wesson AKA “Baller” coughed in
surprise and indignation.  “You can’t
seriously
be suggesting that Dick,
Brandt and Oz have to be disciplined for a mission that took place while they
were off duty, can you, Randy?”

Howard Lemont AKA “The Architect”
turned the page in the report, and made an adjustment to one of the knobs
sticking out of his metal chest plate, causing several small LED lights to
blink in a more regular pattern.  His voice had its characteristic tinny
reverberation, like an electrolarynx used by throat cancer survivors.  “This is
a team, Marc.  We succeed or fail as a team.  As such, we are all responsible
for the actions of our teammates.  Thus, they will shoulder their share of the
blame for this blunder.”

Dauntless sighed.  “Well, I don’t
think we need to be too hard on them.  It’s not like….”  Dauntless looked down
at the folder and strangely tried to pronounce Oz’s code name as if it were a
word and not an acronym.  “…Oaked?  Occed?”  He gave up.  “…Could have known
that Wyatt was acting out like this before he arrived there.”

Oz shook his head.  “As I’ve said,
I wasn’t actually there.  I…”

Badger cut him off.  “You do
NOT
have the floor.  You will speak when we speak at you and not before!  You’ve
already fucked this up enough, son,
don’t
make it worse on yourself.”

Richard DiSabrian AKA “Templar”
held up a hand.  “What was that Lord?”  He paused and leaned his head to the
side as if listening to something; his suit of armor gleaming in the light
streaming through the window.  He refocused on them.  “The Lord in his eternal
patience and understanding, says that he forgives you for your transgressions
against him last morrow.”

Oz blinked.  “Oh…well…that’s nice. 
Tell him I wasn’t there tho…”

Badger pointed a furry gloved
finger at him again. “
Shut your mouth!
”  He looked at the other members
of the board.  “
We got ourselves a troublemaker here, boys!
”