Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (19 page)

Rembrandt solemnly nodded in
agreement.  “He certainly is, Mr. Honey Badger, Sir.  I told him that very
thing on the mission last night.  We were both there, and I said; for god’s
sake,
Oced!
  You’re LEADING this mission, how about some
professionalism
?” 
He shook his head sadly.  “I don’t want to
accuse
anyone of being a
hopeless drug addict, but…”  He trailed off, allowing them to draw their own
conclusions about his lies.  “…Sad really.”

Oz glared at him.  “I am NOT a…”

Dauntless wasn’t even listening. 
“I still just don’t understand what Wyatt could be thinking.”  He shook his
head sadly.  “He must be in so much pain.  We’ll have to try to help him.”

Badger rolled his eyes.  “Fuck
him.  He made his choice.  He’s STEALING now, Roger!  Even YOU aren’t enough of
a choirboy to think that we can just ignore this.  He has to be made an
example
of.”

Baller leaned back in his chair. 
“Whoa, whoa…what are we talking here?  He stole some useless techno thing.  So
what?  Not like the Consortium can actually DO anything with it.”

Architect pulled out a large
blueprint.  “Actually, if you remember from my presentation on the series of
thefts I’ve been tracking, and what they could be building, the device will
allow them an
incredible
amount of power.  In fact, I designed it myself
for a project R&D is working on.  It could either power a death ray or a
weather controlling device capable of destroying the city and surrounding
area.”

Oz raised a hand.  “If you knew
that they would try to steal this device, why did you just leave it in the lab
instead of…”

 “You just don’t know when to shut
the fuck up, do you!?!”  Badger pounded his fists on the desk.  “You will
follow procedure here
, or you can leave!”

Rembrandt nodded.  “Really? 
Excellent.  Good meeting, people.”  And then the man was out the door and free
of the meeting.

Dammit!  Oz should have done that!

Baller rolled his eyes, ignoring
them.  “They won’t actually BUILD anything with it!  Hell, they tried to
construct a dozen of those things in the past few years and it either doesn’t
work or we stop them.  Every time.  This is no different.”

Badger finally stopped yelling
obscenities at the door Rembrandt had gone through.  “This is different,” He
poked a fingertip down on the tabletop to drive his point home. “…because
Ferral’s
behind it.  That little bastard is driven; not an utter fuck-up punk like the
rest
of them.  He’s always been about helping people; he doesn’t know how to do
anything else.  All he needs is a reason to help them.  He WANTS to help
someone. 
Anyone
.  He just needs a reason.  One single reason to grab
the reins and take full control, and once he does that, he could turn the
Consortium into something VERY dangerous.  If the Consortium gives him
something…or
someone
…to fight for, he’s going to turn this all around on
us.  He’ll polish up that turd of an organization and show them how to beat
us.  Mark my words.”  He shook his head and poked a finger down on the
tabletop.  “We can’t just sit still for this.  We need to end him NOW before
they find something he wants.  He. Has. To.
Go
.”

 “He’s right.”  Dauntless sighed
regretfully.  “Wyatt’s far more capable than the rest of them.  With HIM behind
the wheel of their plan…”

Architect nodded.  “Indeed.  They
just may pull it off.”

Balled waived a hand dismissively. 
“I was friends with Wyatt for two decades.”  He scoffed.  “He’s NOT some
lunatic super-villain out to take over the world.  I don’t care what he THINKS
he’s doing, what he’s ACTUALLY doing is utterly harmless.  If by some act of
God he DOES manage to whip the Consortium into being a capable organization, he
won’t DO anything with it or let them do anything
truly
evil.  He has no
reason to!  He doesn’t even
know
those people!  They’re villains!  What
could they POSSIBLY give him that we couldn’t?  He’s a hero, not a…”

Badger slammed a fist down on the
table in agitation again.  “HEROES DON’T STEAL!”

Templar nodded.  “The Lord says
that this unholy fallen angel must be purified with righteous pain and made to
see the error of his sinful ways in the fires of Hell.  The Lord demands blood
from this Judas.  His will be done.”

Baller stared at him in amazement. 
“What the hell god you always talking to, man?  No God I’VE ever heard of in
church,
that’s for sure!
  And judging from the angry calls we get from
religious leaders every time you open your mouth, no God of any religion anyone
ELSE
has heard of either!  They all think you’re as crazy as I do!”

 “Now, now.”  Dauntless held up his
hands, calling for quiet.  “Calm yourself, Marc.  You don’t have the floor at
the moment either.  While I might not agree with Templar’s…
unconventional
religious views, I do agree that we can’t just ignore this.  We have to hit
them back. 
Hard
.  They are spoiled children acting out, and they need
to be shown
discipline
.  That’s the way we did it back home on the farm,
and that’s the way we should do it, now.”

Architect nodded.  “I have a list
of suspected Consortium assets we can seize.”

 “MONEY?!?”   Badger threw his
hands up in the air.  “Shit!  We should be out there cracking their
SKULLS!
 
Ferral’s the problem.  Without him, they’re just as useless as they ever were. 
We should cut off the head and let the body die.”

Templar nodded.  “The Lord agrees. 
A holy battle is needed to free the Lord’s crop of souls of these vermin; the
unholy weeds must be pulled so that his blessed flowers can prosper.”

OCD put up a finger.  “If I may; I
don’t see why we don’t just…”  Badger pointed a finger at him in warning, and
he stopped speaking.

Dauntless pulled out a pen and
began writing something down.  He placed his glass of ice water down…ON THE
TABLE!  The glass was…it was just DRIPPING onto the
wooden surface!
  NO
COASTER AT ALL!

“Very well.  We are agreed then;
all suspected Consortium assets will be seized and all known accomplices and
agents will be arrested on sight and held until they confess their crimes and
tell us where Wyatt and the device are.”

OCD kept his eyes on the glass,
trying not to lose his composure.  The stress of seeing it was already causing
him to sweat though…

Badger glared at Dauntless through
his furry brown mask.  “I said
crack skulls
, not hold their hands,
Roger!  We should…”

Badger trailed off, as OCD just
couldn’t stand it anymore and rushed forward to place Dauntless’ glass on a
coaster.  He pulled a napkin off of the tray, carefully folded it into a
triangle, mopped up the water and discarded the napkin.  He gave a sigh of
relief as things were once more in order.  He could finally relax.  He returned
to his place in front of the table.  The entire room stared at him in silence
for a long moment. 

Badger blinked at him in amazement,
muttered something that sounded like, “…Where do we
find
these fucking
guys…,” and then finished his original thought.  “We should be out there hitting
the
streets!
  We should…”

Nigel the butler popped his head
in.  “Master, Randall?  I have the morning mail for you, sir.”

Honey Badger focused on his
butler.  Nigel looked suddenly uncertain; apparently trying to decide if
following Badger’s orders and bringing him the mail was going to set his boss
off or not.  His family had been serving the Ratell’s for three generations. 
When Nigel’s father died, Randall took him on as his personal butler, despite
the fact that the dark haired well-spoken man was only a year or two older than
he was. 

Badger held out a hand.  “Bring
them here, Nigel.”  Badger took the bundle and began handing them out.  Badger
insisted on receiving all Freedom Squad mail
personally
, ALLEGEDLY to
make sure that it was “safe”.  Personally, Oz thought it had more to do with
the fact that he was a paranoid freak, who wanted to see what kind of mail
everyone else was receiving.  He began tossing the letters to the various
people around the table.  “Junk.”

OCD shuffled through the mail,
frowning as he saw he hadn’t gotten anything good today.  Two modern furniture
catalogs, a letter from a local television station, a letter from a woman whose
life he had saved two weeks ago, a bill from his Drews Department store credit
card…which was ALREADY opened, thanks to Badger, and a letter from a fan.

Badger tossed the pile of his own
mail into the trash.  “Thank you for wasting my time, Nigel.”

The butler looked down at the floor
and backed from the room.  “Terribly sorry, Master Randall.  I thought it might
have been important, as I was required to sig…”

Baller stared down at his mail and
started opening it.  “Jesus, guys!  This isn’t
junk!
  This is the best
part of the job.”  He held up a letter.  “Heartless bastards.  Look at this!”

Architect rolled his eyes.  “Well,
as THRILLED as I am to receive letters from…”  He glanced down at his own
envelope, reading the address scribbled in red crayon.  “…
Billy Peterson. 
Age: 7. Mrs. Kirby’s Second Grade Class.  Branson, Missouri 65615
, I have a
few things a little more IMPORTANT to do with my time than read the childish
ramblings of a seven year old.  These letters are
supposed
to go to our
press office.  Call up Kent Richards over there and ask him why he sucks at his
job.”  He tossed the unopened envelope into the trash.  “I give enough money to
charity and see no need to donate my time as well.”

Baller opened his letter and shook
his head sadly at them like he just couldn’t understand what they were
thinking.  He read it for a long moment and smiled broadly, apparently
delighted with whatever the young fan had to say.  “…Aw…That’s…that’s so
sweet.  Billy’s such a nice kid.”  He folded it back up and put it in his
pocket.  “I
love
getting letters like that.  It really puts the world in
perspective.  Let’s me see how much what we’re doing is
appreciated
. 
I’d read it if I were you, fellas.  It might help you through stuff later.”

OCD looked down at the letter in
consideration.  Children were just DRIPPING with all manner of germs.  The
envelope had probably been used as the interior lining of the child’s diaper or
used to mop up watery green vomit before being sent.  Oz really didn’t
need
that kind of aggravation, thank you very much.  The letter was appreciated, but
would remain untouched.

Dauntless simply tossed his own
mail aside.  “Now then, Mr…”  He looked down at the mission folder again,
trying to find Oz’s name despite the fact that he had worked here for
three-and-a-half years now, and spoke to him on an almost daily basis.  “…
Octed
. 
Since you were lead on the failed mission last night, we are placing YOU in
charge of stopping Wyatt.”

Badger leaned forward in his chair
again menacingly.  “And don’t you fuck it up again, boy!  Or you’ll make me
angry.”

Templar took out his broadsword and
pressed the blade to his forehead.  “The Lord tells me that he trusts you to
carry out his holy commands.  If you fail him again however, your death will be
an
eternity of pain
.”  He crossed himself, despite the fact that every
official in the Christian faith was
universal
in their condemnation of
his actions and beliefs.  “I will pray for you.”

Oz opened his mouth to protest
again, but saw that it was useless.  The decision had been made and there was
no debating it. 
He
was apparently the one to blame for the mission’s
failure even though he was miles away and
shopping
at the time. 

He nodded.  “I understand.”

Understand.  Yeah, he understood. 
Understood that he REALLY needed a
new
job.  He walked back into the
waiting room and realized that he really SHOULD double-check to see if all of
the wood panels were still in place….. 

Two friends were
travelling together through a wood, when a bear rushed out upon them.  One of
the travelers seized hold of a branch of a tree, and hid himself among the
leaves.  The other, after receiving no help from his friend to help him into
the tree, threw himself flat down upon the ground.  The bear shook his head,
muttered something to the man on the ground and then slouched off.  Then the
fellow in the tree came down to his comrade, and said "What was it that
the bear whispered to you?"  "He told me," said the other, “…to
never trust a friend who deserts you when you’re in a pinch."  The moral
of the story?  Misfortune tests the sincerity of friends.

A week later, the arrests started. 
Within hours, half of the Freedom Squad was in cuffs for a variety of crimes
and misdemeanors, and the other half was being torn apart in the press.  Wyatt
had apparently spent the last few years finding sympathetic people in law
enforcement who hated the capes as much as he did, and they were only too happy
to move forward on his plan.  Couple that with Vaudeville’s media puppets, and
it made for some
very
entertaining television.

Still…Harlot couldn’t help but have
mixed feelings about all of this.  She LIKED the heroes…well…she didn’t like
them
personally
….just…well, it was hard to explain.  She liked them in
the same way that someone who studied Jack the Ripper liked his crimes, or a
weather person was always waiting for severe weather to strike.  They were her
hobby, and she liked having them there.  She believed that heroes were a
necessary part of the system, worthy of respect, even if she was obligated to
destroy them.  They were entertaining, fascinating and necessary for the
survival of the city.  As such, it was tough seeing them lead away in chains. 
Heroes didn’t deserve that.  Well…they apparently DID deserve it, but they
shouldn’t
have deserved it.  Heroes were supposed to be heroic, and these people
evidentially weren’t.  It was all very disillusioning.

For his part, Wyatt seemed to be
enjoying the show IMMENSELY.  He sat back in his chair, a smile on his handsome
face, as one hero after the next was led away in front of the cameras.  It was
good to see him happy, even if it was…evil.  Being happy about their arrests
was downright cruel; the vindictive and spiteful act of a petty child.  She
beamed.  He was fitting in here so BEAUTIFULLY!

She smiled over at him.  “You’re
really enjoying this, aren’t you?  Taking out the heroes?”

He shook his head, a look of
confusion on his face.  “I feel……
good
.  I don’t know how to explain it. 
I don’t think there’s a word…”

His thoughts were cut off by the
Librarian.  “Epicaricacy; noun.  Seldom used word from the 18th century.  ‘Taking
satisfaction from the misfortunes of others’, or to use the direct Ancient
Greek translation, taking ‘joy upon evil’.”

“Joy from evil?”

She nodded.

He thought that over for a minute. 
“Yeah.  That’s good.  Thanks.”

She examined the binding of one of
her books and placed it back into the pile.  "You could also go with the
Latin
delectatio morose
, or “morose delectation”; the habit of savoring
and deliberately dwelling with enjoyment on evil thoughts.”

He nodded slowly, as if thinking
the matter over.  “Okay.  Guess I have both then.”  He thought about it for a
minute.  “I just…….I just really don’t like those people.”

Cynic’s loud laughter filled the
room as the city evicted a group of teenage Freedom Squad affiliated members
from the loft there were using as a headquarters.  The young heroes were lead
away and put into Child Protective Services vans to be taken away to foster
care.  “That’ll teach you to not have parents, you little shits!”  Cynic’s head
fell back in maniacal laughter and he finished off another box of milk duds. 
“Oh man…
what an awesome game!
”  He pointed to the screen.  “The Squad’s
approval rating on the audience insta-poll is going down faster than a cheerleader
on prom night, man!  HA!”

Poacher was already on the phone
asking about adopting a few of the now homeless teenage heroes.  Whoever he was
talking to was apparently uncomfortable with his request for the “hottest girl
heroine ya got, who’s closest to eighteen,” though.

Wyatt had apparently seen enough
and walked from the room. 

Harlot chased after him.  “So…you
don’t have any mixed feelings here?  I mean, they used to be your friends.”

He laughed.  “They were
never
my friends.  I just worked with them.  Besides, they did this to
themselves
. 
I didn’t frame them for anything; they’re guilty of
every
crime I’m
having them arrested for.”

“No one’s perfect, Wyatt.  I mean,
YES, they might not be the greatest people, but they’re STILL out there trying
to…”

He cut her off.  “I don’t want to
talk about this again, okay?  We’re just not going to agree.”  He stepped into
the elevator.  “They’ll all get what’s coming to them. 
All of them
.”

She frowned.

Why was he so bitter?

*******

An hour later, Harlot sat in her
collection room and placed the DVD that Vaudeville had given her into the
player.  The movie started; a news report from four years ago crackled across
the large flat screen.  The anxious reporter was standing in front of an area
of the city which she didn’t recognize, and a rundown looking factory loomed
behind him.  He started babbling something about some sort of toxic spill in
the area, and that the Freedom Squad was inbound.  As if on cue, two heroes casually
walked into frame; Wyatt’s brother Continuum and a woman that Harlot recognized
as The Vegan.  They sauntered past the camera and Peter waived at it cheerily. 
He took several steps closer to the reporter and leaned towards the
microphone.  “Make sure you see this.”  He winked at the camera and made a
thumbs up sign.  “This is
important
.”

The reporter shouted out several
questions, but Continuum ignored them and rejoined in companion.  As they made
their way closer to the factory, a shadowy figure emerged and stood in the
entryway.  Continuum didn’t slow down his advance and walked straight up to the
man.

“Thought you boys were going to be
late.”  He held his arms out wide.  “Well, get on with it.  I don’t have all
day here.  Gimme your best shot.”

The man struck so fast that he
didn’t even appear to move, at all.  An unseen force slammed into the center of
Continuum’s chest, and he was propelled backwards and crashed into the side
panel of a car in front of the reporter.  The reporter and the cameraman both
screamed, and the camera focused on him.   She felt close to tears now as she
watched Wyatt’s brother die on screen.  There was no way he was getting up from
that; the man had died before he even hit the car.  His body lay slumped
against the door, a stream of blood pouring from his mouth and onto the
sidewalk.

The cameraman continued swearing as
the reporter threw the microphone down and took off.  The cameraman called
after him, but the reporter wasn’t a fool.  The cameraman swung the camera back
around in time to see the shadowy man kneeling on the heroine’s chest and
pounding his fist into her skull.  After a few blows, his fist came away
stained with blood.  After a few more, the sound of the blows changed as his
fist went through her, and began hitting the concrete beneath her head.

The attacker stopped and
straightened at the sound of an approaching vehicle and calmly walked into the
warehouse.  Moments later, Wyatt pulled up on his stupid looking motorcycle. 
Why DID the Freedom Squad use those things?  They were completely…

Her thoughts trailed off as Wyatt
saw his brother’s body…and simply stared at it for a long moment.  The camera
focused on his emotionless face; he seemed too shocked too move.  The cameraman
started screaming about what had happened, but Wyatt seemed too far gone to
hear him.  The cameraman pointed to the factory and explained that the
individual had gone inside.  Wyatt stared at his brother a moment longer, and
then started walking towards where the man had pointed.

“Wait, man!”  The cameraman sounded
near hysterical with fear now.  “You can’t just go in there!  Wait for backup
or something!  That guy’ll kill you too!”

Wyatt didn’t bother to turn to look
at him, his voice utterly emotionless.  “No, he won’t.  He’s already dead.”

The cameraman started to retreat
from the scene……and then gave up and simply dropped the camera and ran off. 
The shot stayed focused on the area just in front of the car with the factory
still partially in view.

A few minutes later, a figure
tumbled out of an upper story window and fell onto the stairs leading to the
factory.  Wyatt’s face appeared in the window behind him, and nonchalantly
hopped down from the overhang onto the stairs, just as the man tried to stumble
away.  He almost made it back to the car before a telekinetic knife sliced into
the back of his leg and he fell sprawling onto the street.  Wyatt stalked after
him, his face completely expressionless.  The man tried to crawl away again,
but Wyatt flipped him over and stared down at him, his cape blowing in the
wind.  Then he slammed a knife into first one of the man’s hands, and then the
other, pinning him in place.  Then he started
cutting
….

She winced and turned away.  Jesus.

What Wyatt didn’t know of course
was that the camera was still broadcasting.  With no one there to interrupt the
feed at the truck, the camera just kept going.  The controllers could have
tried to cut it off at the station, but they were apparently all too shocked to
do anything either.  It wasn’t every day that America’s heroic son cut a man to
pieces on live TV. 
Slowly
.

Right around the time Wyatt went to
work on the man’s face, she had seen enough.  She switched the DVD off, and to
her surprise, continued to see him on the TV.  His reflection was coming from
the doorway behind her.  She slowly turned around.  Shit.

He was silent for a moment.  “Had I
know the camera was still on, I probably would have done that
inside
the
warehouse, but live and learn, I suppose.”

She stumbled to her feet.  “I’m
sorry, I didn’t…I didn’t know you were there.”

He shrugged.  “It’s okay.  I think
I’m the only person in the country who hasn’t seen that thing like a hundred
times now.”  He sat down on the chair beside her.  “I’m something of a
celebrity because of that.  Well…more than I
already
was.  I know it’s
sure done wonders for my rep in the criminal community anyway.  Your father
really likes me now.  I guess killing someone who pisses you off that badly, is
something he can respect.”

She laughed nervously.  “Yeah! 
He…he…”  And she realized she had no way to end that sentence.

He stared at the TV as if still
watching the scene play out.  “Should have gone to jail for that one.”  He
nodded.  “Belonged there.”  He looked down at the coffee table.  “But my aunt
Gwen was DA at the time and deliberately botched the case so I’d walk, and the
city didn’t really want a problem with the Squad anyway, so they didn’t make
waves.  They just wanted it all gone.  So…I got time served.  But the Squad…they
weren’t so happy with me anymore, and I can’t blame them for that.  They
drummed me out.  I…tried to go it alone for a couple weeks.  Do the whole ‘solo
hero’ thing…but…
apparently
no one calls you to get their cat out of a
tree anymore, once you’ve cut a man’s face off during their morning cartoons.” 
He looked up at her.  “Incidentally, as I’m sure you know since you’re an
expert on all this, I AM the only member to ever be kicked out of the Squad for
killing someone on live TV.  So…yeah.  I’ve got that going for me.” 

He was silent for a long moment.

“Anyway…”  He sighed.  “…so, I’m
out of jail, and I think I’ll have a nice funeral for Peter and Kristine,
right?  Something big.  Something that would be a proper memorial for them.  So,
I dig into the parent’s bank account some and do it up right.  Big church
thing; flowers; banquet; whole nine yards.”  He pulled something out of his
pocket.  “I even had a couple hundred of these things printed up.”  He pulled
out a small funeral card with Peter’s Continuum logo on the back.  “So…”  He
stopped.  “So…The day rolls around…And you know how many people showed up?  How
many of his friends?  How many of the people in this city who he saved on a
daily basis? 
Four
.  Me, my aunt, the priest who I PAID to be there, and
Baller.  NO ONE ELSE.”  He shook his head, his anger still evident.  “He gave
his life for those fucking people.  DIED for them, and that was his reward. 
That was how they showed their thanks; an empty memorial service and
one-hundred-ninety-six extra funeral cards.”  He stared at the table.  “I leave
the funeral for a minute and call up the Squad…I mean, they’re his friends,
right?  His family.  There must be something wrong….they… They’re off stopping
the alien horde from invading a planet of virgins or something, but they’re trying
so
hard
to get back in time.”  He looked down at his hands as he
absently shuffled the cards.  “…Got Dauntless on the phone, I’m like;
Hey
Roger?  Where is everyone?
  And he tells me that no one will come to the
memorial service because they’re all at some PR thing across town.  They need
to try to repair the damage to their stock price or some such thing.  I’m like;
you guys can’t even just come to pay your respects?  I mean, it would really
mean a lot to me if you came, and I know it would mean a lot to Peter too.
” 
His shuffling of the cards got faster and faster.  “He says to me…And I swear
to god I’m not making this up…He says;
The Freedom Squad is bigger than you
and your brother, Wyatt.  There is no
‘I’ in T.E.A.M.”
  The cards
fell from his hands and scattered on the floor.  “And I hung up on him, and
never spoke to him again.”  He sighed.  “So…yeah.  I put the cape away.  By
that point, I didn’t really care if the people in this fucking city lived or
died anyway.”  He gathered up the cards and tapped the deck.  “I got at
least
one-hundred-ninety-six reasons to still be holding a grudge.”