“The situation remains tense, Lars. There are an unknown number of hostages still being held inside the museum by an unknown number of armed gunmen. Police are reluctant to take definitive action that may risk the lives of innocent civilians.... Wait, wait, we can now see what appears to be a costumed crime-fighter on the scene.... Yes, it appears that the masked vigilante known as Façade has arrived and is speaking to the officer in charge! Lars, this could be the turning point in this hostage situation. Façade has handled several similar situations since her appearance last year....
* * *
“Masked crime-fighter Façade has once again defused a dangerous situation between rival gangs on the lower east-side, putting herself between two groups of armed young men intent on violence. Several of the gang members received minor injuries, but no innocents were harmed, and neither was Façade, as far as anyone can tell....
* * *
“The mystery woman calling herself Façade made an appearance today at the Eaton Town Centre, where the silent but friendly masked hero posed for photos with fans and signed autographs, before taking off across town to help firefighters deal with an apartment blaze. Detractors of the masked hero movement criticized the vigilante, warning that her methods of fighting crime are in fact equally criminal, and are calling once again for her to publicly unmask and take responsibility for her actions....
“In other news, Alvin Merrimac, also known as the super-villain Grinning Reaper, was released on a technicality today from the super-max facility in South Dakota....
* * *
Façade slipped quietly into the open window from the empty alley. It had been another long night of boring patrol, punctuated by a brief but brutal encounter with a drunken, abusive husband. But the night was nearly over, and Façade's time was almost gone.
Façade stepped into the walk-in closet, closing the double door behind her. A half-hour later, the door opened, revealing a very tired, mostly naked 25-year-old... man. David Lang stumbled into the bathroom, turned on the bath, and leaned against the wall. There were bruises on his stomach and thighs, and old scars looking pink along his arms. Being a vigilante wasn't exactly the easiest hobby on the body.
As David soaked in the hot water, he let his mind wander a bit. Tonight wasn't really that bad, he thought to himself, except for the baseball bat. Bastard. Glad I showed up when I did. EMTs said one more hit and that woman would've been a vegetable. I'll have to look her up sometime, check on her. Got to sleep a little, work starts in five hours....
At once, David felt a heavy weight seem to descend on him. Work. The daily grind. Eight hours of stocking shelves, mopping up spills, and counting bottles of pop. Ugh. Eight hours of trying to be the man he never wanted to be. David sank a little lower into the warm water, wishing he could disappear beneath the liquid surface and re-emerge as... as....
Who? Façade? She's not even a whole person, just a masked lunatic with some fighting skills and a handful of illusions. No, I wish I could emerge as her secret ID, the beautiful and mysterious woman who fights against a world of violent men because most women can't or won't. But who is she under the mask?
She's you, David, duh. Pull off her mask and cape, and she's a bagboy at the grocery store, with no lover, no money, and a disgusting wang.
David rubbed his eyes with his wet hands, fists already forming bruises that he'd cover in a few hours with work gloves. He rose from the rapidly cooling water, took a moment to dab at a spot of mascara he'd missed earlier, and stumbled into the messy single bed in the corner of his room.
Who is Façade, really? Who am I beneath the skin? David drifted into an uneasy sleep with these thoughts dancing in his mind.
* * *
Alvin Merrimac was free. It was a technicality, of course. The spandex-wearing punk who took him down was new to the costumed crime-fighter scene, didn't carry his card, didn't read Alvin his rights, and was definitely brutal in the take-down. Still, it took a year for Alvin's lawyer—and cousin—to reverse the guilty verdict and get Alvin home.
And now Alvin had a fresh opportunity. He dropped his bag as he entered his apartment, and beamed his grin around the room. It was just as he had left it—in perfect order. Of course, everything was covered in dust, but that was just proof that his ideal space was undisturbed.
Alvin grinned as he locked the door, grinned as he unpacked his bag and carefully put each piece of clothing in exactly the right spot.... In fact, Alvin always grinned, now. One of the few survivors of another supervillain's gas attack years ago, Alvin's grin was a permanent affliction. It stopped hurting eventually, and Alvin learned how to eat through his teeth.
He picked up the newspaper he'd purchased earlier from a machine (buying things from actual vendors was always a hassle) and used it to brush dust from his favorite chair. Opening the paper, he quickly skipped headlines about the coming election and Ultrax's rising career, scanned passed obituaries and ads for fast food and religion, and settled on a short article on page 8 of the Lifestyle section.
“Façade, eh?” he whispered. “I can see right through you, little girl....”
* * *
“So, David, what do you think about Ultrax?”
David looked up from the box of potato flakes he was stocking and grinned at his co-worker, Trent. “That was amazing what he did with the light pole, man.” David mimed a baseball swing, and Trent laughed.
“Yeah, he's got it like that, but I read this article on HeroTracker.com that said how he wasn't really so great, because he has all these powers. They like the regular heroes like Zetaman and Geist.” Trent shrugged and pulled out another case of noodle dinners. “I don't know, though. Powers are cool. Ultrax catches bullets with his teeth and stuff.”
“It's more of a challenge for regular heroes,” David said, nodding. “I mean, all Ultrax has to do is show up, and the bad guys are done for. But someone like Façade has to actually struggle and fight, and has to worry about being hurt, you know?”
“Man, Façade. I almost forgot about her. She's kind of hot, you know?” Trent leaned the box of noodles against the nearly empty shelf and looked off into the distance. “I wonder what her face is like, under that mask?”
“Probably hairy,” David joked. “Or she's missing teeth.”
“I bet she has a voice like an angel,” Trent mused.
“Maybe, Trent,” David said with a smile. “But you better finish restocking pasta, or you'll be seeing Saint Pete sooner than you like.” David grabbed the empty cardboard and began breaking it down. “Besides, heroes don't have time for regular guys.”
David's smile only ran skin deep. Deep down, he liked Trent most of all the stock boys. But how could he express his feelings? How, except as Façade?
* * *
Getting his old costume back was clearly out of the question. Although his guilty verdict had been reversed, Alvin's property was still held by the police, or maybe it was in some trophy vault in Carapace's secret lair, assuming the hero-creep was still active, or alive. Alvin hadn't been able to find out anything about his nemesis, but that was all right with Alvin. Frankly, although he really wanted his things back, he wasn't holding that much of a grudge. Carapace was a man, after all, and men were meant for this game of power and will. Not women. Not Façade.
Putting together a new outfit proved even easier than Alvin thought it would. Internet shopping and prepaid credit cards, combined with a post office box under another name, and Alvin had an all-new costume in six short weeks, complete with armoured chest plate, hardened helmet, and the trademark scythe, a real Amish beauty. Of course, he still had some work to do on the outfit: adding his skull motif to the helmet, finding that good metal paint to coat his scythe blade in pitch black, getting a pair of steel-toe boots that fit his size 17s.... But he was on the right track again.
“Ah, Façade,” he muttered as he ran a whetstone along the blade. “I so hope to meet you soon. You must give all of this up, young lady....”
* * *
Façade was on the roof of an old hardware store downtown. It was another night of patrols, and a very quiet night at that. Not three blocks away, in any direction, Façade could easily find a member of The White Hats, a group of self-described super cowboys. Façade had tried shaking the group, but they were good, and very insistent on protecting ‘the little lady.’
Façade was just about to give up and go home when he was startled by a voice behind him. “It’s tough being a skirt in this game,” the female voice said. Façade spun, ready to fight, but stopped himself. Standing six feet away was a woman in gold and black sleeveless Lycra with a half-jacket and high boots, her face covered by a full mask but her short-cropped black hair exposed.
“Ballbreaker,” Façade whispered.
“You got it, skinny,” she replied, tipping an imaginary hat. “Back from my six-year tour in Europe. It's not near as much fun over there,” the female powerhouse continued as she moved to the ledge and sat down. “Not nearly as many guns as here.”
Façade continued to stand silently. One of his secret fears was discovery by another female superhero. He wasn't sure how it would happen, but he was pretty sure women could detect fakes among them easier than men.
“Of course, it might get interesting. They released Grinning Reaper a couple of months ago, and he only goes after women. Oh, he’s fought guys aplenty. It’s kind of hard not to when our town has more men wearing tights than women, but he only really wants the women. That’s part of why I came back, figured I could put this guy down the right way.” She looked up at Façade, and he imagined her grinning under her mask. “Of course, you've been pretty busy yourself lately. And even without superpowers, you've done a hell of a job.”
Façade just nodded.
“We could team up. I’ve got the muscle—not to mention that my skin is bullet-proof, and my only weakness is an obscure industrial chemical. And you've got excellent instincts and a unique fighting style. Let's show the Reaper what girls can really do!”
“Girls can do anything they like,” another voice said. Façade didn't turn at this voice; it was dreadfully familiar tonight. “Including beating up bad guys. But there's a difference between you two, Ballbreaker. For all that she's been doing a whiz-bang job, Façade here ain't super.” The man who stepped into Façade’s view wasn't exactly what people pictured when they thought of superheroes, but he was wearing primary-colored clothes and a small mask around his eyes. He was short, somewhat soft, and had hair that was getting thin on the top. His jaw wasn't all that strong, his gaze not at all steely.
“Ten-Count, I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Ballbreaker said, extending a beefy hand to the newcomer.
“I was sure you’d be up here, but I didn't see her,” Ten-Count answered, trying hard to grip Ballbreaker's hand with what muscle he could. “Façade, you could go home tonight, there’s three groups out here, plus the Amazon here.” He gasped as Ballbreaker squeezed his hand a little too tightly.
“Didn’t see that one coming, did you, wimp?” the woman asked as Ten-Count rubbed his hand gingerly. Façade almost laughed. “But why do you always try to chase off the normal heroes, TC? No one goes telling the Dark Knight to take the night off. And it’s not like you’re bullet-proof....”
“No, but I can see almost anything that will happen in the next few seconds. Especially anything deadly.” The blue-clad hero turned to Façade. “I can literally dodge bullets. You're some kind of martial artist, right? Why don't you—”
Façade's fist lashed out with lightning speed, catching Ten-Count firmly in the abdomen, followed by one into his chest. Neither hit was hard, but they both caught the man by surprise. Ballbreaker laughed.
“I don't think your powers are on the ball tonight, TC,” she snorted. “Either that or Façade has some new super-powers.”
Ten-Count stepped back from Façade. “That is so weird. You know, now that I think about it, I've never had any kind of feeling about you? I....” His voice trailed off as his eyes unfocused.
Façade looked concerned. “What?” he whispered, almost aloud.
“He's killed again,” Ten-Count answered. “And he's looking for someone... someone near here.” His eyes focused, and he stared in turn at each of his companions. “He's looking for one of us....”
* * *
The victim was known by the public as Willow, named after a character in a popular TV show. She had super-flexibility, allowing her to perform some amazing moves. They didn't help her.
Alvin made short work of the woman, not even bothering to trade banter with her. Poor form, true; but women had no place as super-heroes. Besides, she wasn't the one he was seeking.
Alvin took a moment to snap off a few pictures of the fallen angel, then swiftly retreated. Any moment now, some wandering do-gooder would come along; they always seemed to know where tragedy would strike.
As he moved along narrow alleyways and side streets, he chuckled to himself. Beating the rubbery girl was too simple; one swift slice at her ankles, and a second along her torso, each too swift to be seen by ordinary eyes. It wasn't much of a power; he wasn't faster than the average martial artist, for example. But most of these costumed weirdos relied too much on powers and not enough on training.
“Grinning Reaper,” a voice called to him. Alvin glanced to his left and saw another costumed woman just emerging from a side alley. Damn, he thought to himself, right out in public. He quickly sized up the area and realized the side street they were on was completely empty at this time of night.
The woman facing him was in a classic hero pose, legs akimbo, fists clenched, slightly hunched. A fighter, then. Alvin flexed his arms, making sure his grip on the scythe was firm. “Your name, my dear?” he asked, always polite.
“Ballbreaker,” the woman replied, stepping closer. She glanced at his blade and laughed. “I hope you have more than a little knife on you. I've been itching for a good fight.”
Alvin shrugged slightly, then moved forward, faster than most people would register. He swung his blade, deliberately giving the woman a chance to avoid the deadly blow. Instead, his pitch-black scythe struck her arm, digging deep into the meat and hitting bone.
Ballbreaker cried out in surprise and pain as Alvin wrenched the blade free, readying himself for a second attack. “What the hell?” she said, stepping back warily, clutching her bleeding arm to her chest.
Alvin stopped himself. Her surprise wasn't what he expected; for that matter, the fact that the blade didn't neatly sever her arm was also unexpected. “Something amiss, my dear?” he asked her.
“Nothing can penetrate my skin!” she yelled, clearly shaken. “I'm almost invulnerable!”
He moved forward again, and this time she reacted swiftly, grabbing at the shaft of his deadly weapon. Her grip was amazingly strong, stopping his swing solidly. Alvin was prepared for this, though, and simply forced all his strength into pivoting the weapon in her grip, angling the razor-sharp, black-painted blade directly into her shoulder. The blade sliced through her flesh but stopped at her bones. She cried out again and loosened her grip enough for Alvin to pull the blade back.
“Must be your kryptonite,” Alvin said, considering his target. “The blade is merely steel, of course, but—”
His words were interrupted as a world of pain shot through his abdomen. Ballbreaker's blow wasn't that fast, but his attention was not where it should be, and the force of her kick threw him back almost all the way across the street. His armour would protect against bullets or blades, but impacts still transferred enough energy into his body to give him a couple of broken ribs. He ignored the pain as he had learned to ignore other injuries and slid to his feet.
“Impressive,” he growled, changing his grip on the weapon. Ballbreaker was preparing to charge him, to use sheer brute force to stop him. “But a bit brutal. I'll be able to get out again if you're this sloppy.”
As she rushed him, she growled, “You're not going to jail this time, freak.” Her rush was fast but ungainly; the bloody wound in her shoulder was throwing her off just a hair. Enough, though. Alvin timed his move elegantly, side-stepping her rush as he turned the blade expertly. Blood gushed as he severed the artery at her neck, as well as slicing part of her windpipe. The behemoth woman checked her headlong rush, tried to turn to face him, and fell in a gurgling heap.
Alvin glanced quickly up and down the street, saw they were still alone for the moment, and pulled out his cell phone for another quick picture.
* * *
David picked up his paper and glanced through the front page articles. It had been a very disturbing week for supers. Nine women so far killed, including the nearly invulnerable Ballbreaker. The coroner had found traces of an obscure industrial paint in her wounds, used to create a matte coating on steel, which had turned out to be her weakness. The same traces were found on the other eight women as well.
He had spent the last three nights patrolling, hoping to be able to catch the murderer off-guard; but so far all he could find were angry supermen and frightened superwomen. Already, four lady crusaders announced they were hanging up their capes until the Reaper was caught.
David had to admit, he was frightened. Façade might not be a real woman, but would the Reaper care? Besides, he was fooling himself, wasn't he? He was a man, and it was time he stopped pretending.
He put down the paper, went into his walk-in closet, and looked at his costume. I can't do this right now, he thought. Façade has to go.
* * *
Alvin was frustrated. As of last count, he had taken care of a dozen of the city's finest female heroes, put two more in critical condition, and scared the rest—every last one—into hiding. Sure, there was a massive manhunt out for him. Heroes from other cities were coming in to lend a hand. But Alvin was unsatisfied. Façade still eluded him, and that just wouldn't do.
I need a master plan, he considered. Façade must come out and play.
* * *
“This just in. The public is warned to stay at home tonight and stay off of city streets. The murderer known as the Grinning Reaper has announced to city officials that he has placed an assortment of improvised devices throughout the city, and is preparing to detonate random bombs unless the female superhero Façade faces him in single combat. Bomb squads are mobilizing at this moment to locate and neutralize the weapons, but police warn that they have no idea how many devices have been planted, or where they are located....”
* * *
David passed a cold beer to Trent. “Man, I'm glad you made it over for movie night before the streets were closed,” he said, sitting on the couch beside his friend.
“Tell me about it. Looks like I might have to spend the night, buddy, hope you don't mind.” Trent said, twisting the cap off his drink.
“Not at all,” David smiled. Any night, he thought.
“I just wonder if Façade's going to face this guy,” Trent mused. “If it were me being called out, and I was a superhero, I'd have to go. That's part of the code or something, right?”
“She's scared, Trent,” David answered. “They all are. This guy murders women with super powers, women like Ballbreaker and Iron Girl. What chance does a regular hero like her have?”
“That's not the point. Heroes have to be who they are, more so than normal folks.” Trent sipped his beer, thoughtfully. “Even though they maintain secret identities, most of them, the person they are when they put on the mask becomes their true self. And they have to be better than the rest of us.”
“Trent....” David wasn't sure how to continue and fumbled with his own drink while Trent regarded him. “What if I told you I knew who... who Façade really is?”
“You're kidding,” his friend replied. “You know a superhero?”
“Well, sort of,” David said. “And she's got a secret... like, a weird secret.” He looked at Trent, who was clearly waiting for him to continue. “Façade isn't actually a woman.”
Trent just looked at him blankly for a moment, then laughed. “Wow, you really had me there for a moment, buddy,” Trent snickered.
“I'm not kidding, Trent,” David said, annoyed. “Façade is a guy. You know, a cross-dresser, sort of. Only... he doesn't do that in his regular life.”
“That's weird,” Trent said. “If what you’re saying is true, then Façade’s like a woman trapped in a man’s body. She ought to be herself all the time.”
“It’s not that easy,” David said. “People judge you, treat you weird, abuse you....”
Trent put his beer down. “David,” he said, turning to his friend, “people get that all the time. Everyone does. But heroes have to be better, they have to rise above things like that.” He smiled. “If I were Façade, I'd go out right now, kick Reaper’s grinning butt, take a victory lap, and then order some lady clothes online. Then I'd strut my stuff in front of everyone I knew, because I know that I'm awesome as a woman.”
David looked at his friend in disbelief. “You would?”
“Well, not me, really,” Trent said. “I look awful in drag. And I couldn't beat even an easy villain like Plant Guy. But Façade's got the gift, you know? No supervillain ever seems to be able to get the upper hand on her mad kung-fu skills. And, whoever he is, he looks sweet as a woman.”
“You sound like you still like her, Trent, even though she's a he.”
“You bet. Or, I did. Frankly, if she lets this madman get away with this, I'll lose my respect for her.” Trent stood and winked. “Just like if I were her friend, I'd be disappointed if she didn't show up to work next time in a wig and skirt.”
David started. “What?”
“C'mon, buddy, once you told me she was a he, it wasn't hard to figure out. I've studied every picture I could get of Façade, and I recognize now why her eyes are so familiar. Mascara or not, I know what you look like, pal.” Trent grinned. “It's not like you wear glasses in your secret ID to hide, you know....”
“But—”
“No buts, David. Go get your outfit and face this dude. I bet you can take him. As for me, if you don’t mind, I’m really craving a hot bath, if that’s okay....
* * *
Alvin was watching every TV channel on his smart TV, anxious. The hero should have come out by now, and Reaper wasn’t really ready to start bombing the city. After all, he knew once he started sending the detonate signal, some tech-oriented hero would track his radio device back to this temporary lair. It had been hard enough avoiding the small army of tights looking for him; it would be harder still to make his escape once he started blowing up the city’s many attractions.
Still, threats are no good if they are not carried out, he considered, reaching for his cell phone.
Suddenly his hand froze. There, on Channel 6, was an overhead shot of a parking lot at Southbend Mall, probably from an air unit. He grabbed the control for his TV and clicked buttons. The picture took up the screen, and the newscaster’s voice blared from the speakers. “—has just arrived on the scene, but the police commissioner has warned the officers to keep their distance. Yes, it seems that Façade has appeared, and is preparing to face Reaper, should he arrive....”
Finally, Alvin thought, grabbing his scythe. And not far from here. This should prove... interesting.
* * *
David lay in his hospital bed, most of his body covered in bandages. The Reaper had toyed with him at first, a nick here, a cut there. Façade’s fists and feet connected quite a few times, but it was obvious that the villain was trained to resist pain, and it was hard getting a solid hit on anyone who could move so fast. The fight replayed in David's mind as he lay, lightly dosed on painkillers.
“Hey, buddy,” a familiar voice called. David brought his unsteady consciousness into focus. Stepping into the room, holding a vase of pink flowers, was his friend Trent.
“Trent, wow. They let you in?” David asked, groggily.
“After a thorough pat-down. I think Officer Jackson and I are engaged,” Trent joked, setting the flowers down. “It's so weird. Suddenly, everyone knows that David Lang was secretly Façade all this time.”
“Yeah, I guess unmasking in front of six news crews might cause that problem,” David said.
“So how is it?” Trent asked, sitting on a chair beside the bed.
“Lots and lots of stitches, and probably two or three more operations before I'll be whole again,” David said, groaning. “He almost got me. If I hadn't pulled off my mask and wig when I did....”
“Yeah, the Fox cameraman got a great shot of Reaper’s reaction when you did that,” Trent snickered. “He was all like, ‘what? A man? Nooooo!’ And then you did that one-two on him, wow!”
“It was all I could do to land those two punches, too,” David said. “I’d lost way too much blood from that slice across my belly, and I was afraid my innards would spill out... but....”
“I know, you had to. That's what heroes do.”
“So I hear that the Justice Squad cleared all the devices while I was distracting Reaper?” David asked.
“That's what the news said. Dr. Digit figured out how to sense them, or something,” he said. “So what happens now?”
“Well, Façade's off the crime-fighting circuit for a while. Plus, everyone knows me now.”
“No, they know David Lang. But I think it's time you let your true self show.” Trent pulled out his cell phone and called up some pictures. “How about this look?”
“Blonde? Really? A blonde Asian?” David moaned.
“Well, we could do red hair....”
“You’re serious about this?” David asked. “You’re seriously wanting to turn me into a woman?”
“Dude—” Trent said. “—the whole world now knows that David Lang is Façade. So your normal life is through, as David. But you never were really David anyway, so why don't we let Mr. Lang die a nice, quiet death, and get your life in order. Oh, what's your name, anyway?”
David just stared at his friend. It made sense, really. He could still have a normal life, as a woman, and when the time was right, Façade could reappear. Wouldn't that confuse his enemies? And... and he could really be himself.
“Name, you know, what does the alter-ego of Façade call herself when she's not kicking bad-guy butt?”
* * *
It took two years to arrange everything correctly, but experts from three super-groups helped out, including arranging for David Lang to suffer fatal complications during surgery on his spleen, orchestrating an elaborate open-casket funeral, and creating all the right credentials for an all-new identity.
Emily Cho started classes at Center City University along with her friend Trent Ennis. Thanks to a gift from a number of grateful super-heroines, the two friends had more than enough to get their degrees and start new careers. Except for some scars, there was little to connect Emily with David Lang. There had even been some facial sculpting thanks to a weird super-doctor who could mold flesh with his bare hands. Of course, the plumbing was all the same—Emily wasn't quite ready to cross over all the way yet—but she had never been happier.
* * *
Alvin sat on his hard bunk, thinking. He'd been defeated... but not by a girl. Not really. He had to take consolation in that. Façade, you stepped up. Very good. I would expect nothing less from a true hero.
The villain was facing the death penalty, but that was nothing new. Of course, this time, all the proper procedures had been followed, and his actual arrest conducted by a real police officer. The state’s case was pretty air-tight.
Of course, the state had no idea that Alvin already had plans in motion to secure his safe release. Oh yes, Façade, he thought, I know you're still out there. David Lang, you and I will meet again. You are a worthy opponent....