My Favorite Superhero (After Gabrielle)
“Mother puss bucket!” I said, feeling the heat of an energy blast that sent me flying out of the air.
I was insubstantial but some frequencies of energy could penetrate my magic. Yes, Super-Science was catching up with sorcery—isn’t that great? Yaaay. It burned the side of my cloak and against my flesh before sending me spiraling down toward the ground at speeds I was not terribly comfortable with hitting the ground.
“Ouch, damn, crap, hell, fudge!” I said, bouncing into a lesser city park near the highway. The ocean was visible beyond the edge of the highway and I had to admit a certain fondness for the view even as I felt like every bone in my body was aching.
Who the hell was attacking me? Who killed the Red Condor? That was when my attention turned to the sight of the person I’d come here to rescue. An explosion occurred right in front of the limousine containing the Condor’s henchmen and the kidnapped mayor. The attack, probably a missile, sent it flying over the guardrail before doing three flips across the ground. It landed about thirteen feet away from me with its driver’s seat completely crushed and henchman juice leaking out the side.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure the mayor is dead,” I muttered, spitting up some blood on the ground. “You know, ever since I got my healing factor, I get my ass kicked a lot more.”
That was when I heard a jetpack settle down behind me. I turned my head and saw a chrome armored figure with a smooth faceplate. He was also wearing a cape. In his hands was an energy rifle with a rocket launcher attached to his rocket pack. Honestly, he looked like a just barely copyright friendly version of Jango Fett.
“Well if it isn’t Merciless,” a familiar voice spoke on the other end. It had a thick rural Florida twang filtered through a voice synthesizer. It was rather unmistakable. “This is going to be a red-letter day down at VICE.”
I coughed. “Scarab?”
The voice was of the Chrome Scarab, aka Jim Jameson, a C-List supervillain that wasn’t even up to the Red Condor’s level. He was also one of the people I’d recruited to serve on the side of good. He’d railed on me for being a snitch, traitor, turncoat, and other nastier words until I pointed out he actually made less than minimum wage after expenses as well as jailtime. Maintaining jetpacks being expensive, no matter how many ATMs you robbed in a day. I’d set him up with Darklight Security and a new job to get him off the street.
Unfortunately, the Chrome Scarab had proven to be one of the latter in the professional criminal versus psychopath distinction. Even being a mercenary for an organization that regularly broke international law hadn’t been enough to satisfy his inner bloodlust. Last I’d heard, he’d accepted a government contract and hopefully would put his inner psychopath to good use. I should have remembered there was no such thing under a government still rebuilding after President Omega’s takeover.
“It’s Rocketdeath now,” Jim said, his voice low and threatening. “I’m getting top of the line superhero technology now that I work for the government. Also, I get to keep the toy money and t-shirts. You did me a solid. Too bad I have to kill you now. You’re still registered as a supervillain, ya know?”
That was another thing making my days (as well as nights) harder. The Society of Superheroes and the Department of Supernatural Security were not on the same page these days. Superheroes had been briefly outlawed under President Karl Trust and while he’d rolled that back, they were still under pretty strict guidelines. I might have a pardon and be on the right side of the law with the SOS, but the cops didn’t see it that way. Indeed, some jackass had actually posted a million-dollar bounty for bringing me in. The only reason more supervillains didn’t try to do it was because, well, as stupid as some were, most realized that when you call the Feds you get pinched too.
However, as bad as the DSS was and a pain in the ass for superhumans, there was one group within it that was even worse: VICE. The Variant Intelligence Collective Enforcement agency. Which was one of those acronyms that came before what it supposedly stood for. They were guys who existed to track down Supers, search for their families, and tag anyone who could gain superpowers. They also went after aliens, magic-users, shifters, what few undead remained, and anything else that qualified as a variant from mundane humans. Lots of them were interred without trial, others deported from the planet or dimension, and even more separated from their families. It was the group that would have tried to take Leah and Mindy from me and Cindy.
“Rocketdeath?” I asked, getting up slowly. I felt like I was on fire and hated the fact that Jim had weapons that could hurt me. I’d help get him those, goddammit. “That’s what you’re going with, really?”
Jim’s back straightened and he looked to one side. “Listen, on the street you can just choose whatever codename you want, but all of the good ones are taken when you’re a hero. Literally millions of them have been trademarked. Some heroes have to rent theirs out from any dweeb who has five hundred bucks to reserve the rights. They even have a form online.”
“Why did you kill the Red Condor?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Uh, duh, because he’s a supervillain. It’s my job as a cop.”
“You’re not a cop,” I said, disgusted.
“Close enough,” Jim said, chuckling.
I felt my face. “Wasn’t he your friend? You were part of the Syndicate Seven a while back?”
“You know what they say, all’s fair in love and making a lot of money. The bounty for the Red Condor was fifty grand.”
“You can’t collect a bounty for a dead man,” I said, sighing. “This isn’t the Old West. Also, you just killed the mayor.”
I wasn’t about to point out that as a government employee, he wasn’t allowed to collect the bounties that the United States had put up for supervillains either. The government had tried to come to my mansion to collect both me and my child last year, part of the reason why I was in Atlas City now, and I’d successfully managed to intimidate them. Unfortunately, that had also resulted in the death of at least one Federal agent after he’d threatened my kids. It was why I wasn’t going to be a part of the Society of Superheroes anytime soon.
I’d live.
Honestly, facing down Rocketdeath here made me excited. He wasn’t the evil that Cindy had sent me down here to face but was one I would have absolutely no difficulty beating the living hell out of. I couldn’t put him in prison, but I was pretty sure breaking every bone in his body would keep him from anymore murder sprees. Maybe that was my problem: I was too focused on guys on the wrong side of the law when the real nasties hid behind money and power.
“Eh, I’m pretty sure my bodycam will show you killing the mayor,” Rocketdeath said, raising his rifle. “The benefits of dummy AI editing. Now, I must bring you in alive to get paid. Stupid laws, but I’m fairly sure I can do that without you having limbs.”
See what I mean about the DSS not being on the same page? Therefore I kept having to kill the guys I wanted to redeem. “That’s not how anatomy works. At all.”
“Too bad,” Jim said, pulling the trigger as I prepared to blast him with the full power of my magic.
I didn’t get to, much to my surprise, as Rocketdeath’s rifle was pulled from his arms by a inky black tentacle of pure Nega-Force. It was, apparently, something quite a lot of heroes wielded these days. Standing nearby, using insect-like legs to push himself twenty feet off the ground, was the Super-Duper Splotch Man.
“Oh, Jim, you can take the murderous mercenary out of the suit but not the suit out of the murderous mercenary. Wait, no, that makes no sense,” Splotch said before launching himself forward with his extra-appendages and kicking Jim in the helmet. “Oh well, they can’t all be winners.”
Using my magic, I conjured a little white placard with a six point five on it. Just like if we were at the Olympics.
“A six point five?” Splotch said, shocked. “That was at least an eight and a half.”
“I’m sorry but I’m not easily impressed,” I said, watching Jim aim the rocket launcher on his back at us.
I proceeded to freeze it over and the object misfired, becoming a burned-out useless wreck. Really, it’s impressive when you can get an object to freeze on its top when it’s so hot it melts through the backpack of a “superhero” below. Jim swore a blue streak before aiming his wrist gauntlet lasers.
“So, how did you get here, Super-Duper Splotch Man?” I asked, ignoring Jim.
“You know you can just call me Splotch,” Splotch said.
“Do I have to?” I asked.
“All my friends do! As for how I got here so fast, your girlfriend, Red Riding Hood, called me. I was already on my way to rescue the mayor, which, honestly doesn’t seem like it’s going to be happening.” Splotch fired a shadow blast over his shoulder and clobbered Jim in the helmet.
I felt a little irritated at that and said so in my earpiece. “Cindy, I could handle it.”
“Sure you could,” Cindy replied in my ear. “Besides, with Splotch distracted, I can now rob the Atlas City Museum! Bwhahahaha.”
“She sounds like a real keeper,” Splotch said. “Does she have a sister.”
“Not that I know of,” I said. “Mind you, I’m in a polyamorous relationship.”
“Ah,” Splotch said. “I have three sisters. I would not surround myself with that much female energy to save my life.”
“Technically, Gabrielle’s dating some other dudes, but I don’t know them,” I replied, not entirely happy about it and feeling hypocritical.
“Fascinating!” Splotch said. “You could do a reality show.”
“Kill you!” Jim shouted, pulling out a laser knife and charging at me. For an intergalactic bounty hunter and government assassin, he was awfully emotional.
I conjured ice under his feet, and he slipped on the ground like we were in a cartoon. I had to admit, I hadn’t had this much fun fighting in years. “Cindy tried but it got cancelled due to her attempt to market it on that cellphone only network. She’s the mother of one of my children and I love her dearly.”
“And Gabrielle is the mother of your other daughter,” Splotch said. “Plus, you’re involved with Nighthuntress?”
That was Mandy’s codename. “That’s…complicated.”
“More so than dating three of the most dangerous women on the planet?” Splotch said, doing a backflip then conjuring four Nega-Force tentacles with fists on their end to slap around our opponent.
“Yes,” I said, not about to explain that Mandy had been my wife before she’d died, become a vampire, gotten herself possessed by the ghost of my ex-partner’s sister, and then I’d sent said ghost to Hell.
Rocketdeath pulled out a miniature nuclear grenade, which looked suspiciously like Boba Fett’s thermal detonator, and turned it on to a six second countdown. I proceeded to grab it from his hand using my phase powers and shut it off.
“Hey!” Rocketdeath shouted. “No fair!”
“So is nuking the city!” I replied. “Area of effect attacks are cheap! It’s like camping and kill stealing!”
Don’t worry if you didn’t get that reference, Rocketdeath did and it pissed him off as he let out a frustrated scream. He had bigger problems, though. Splotch conjured an enormous paddle, attached a Nega-Force string, and then used Jim as a ball before bouncing him back and forth.
“Well, she’s in the city,” Splotch said. “Apparently, she’s part of some sort of heist crew that goes after the rich and evil. Maybe you should talk to her.”
I didn’t immediately respond to that. The wound between me and Mandy was still too raw. It didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out she was probably working with Cindy. It also explained why Cindy was keeping her business to herself. You know, that and plausible deniability about her crimes while I was ostensibly trying to be a superhero. “Hmmm.”
“How noncommittal!” Splotch said, finishing his defeat of Rocketdeath.
The bounty hunter fell onto the ground as his armor was now beaten to uselessness. “I give! I give!”
“Aren’t you married?” I asked, walking over and looking for his armor’s off-switch. Shockingly enough, the Darklight-83 combat armor had them. This is why you never hired advertising firms to design your death machines. Switching off Jim’s weapons, I proceeded to remove his helmet and check to see if he was still alive. He was but he looked like was concussed all to hell.
Poor baby.
“Ten years now,” Splotch said, covering the nonsensical Jim in a bunch of inky goop to hold him. I understand it dissolved after a few hours. “She’s the light of my life but also why I must keep my identity secret. I’m not throwing around my name like you and Red Riding Hood.”
“Yeah, well, we were criminals before we were heroes,” I said, simply. “It’s hard to keep a secret identity after your first arrest.”
I wasn’t about to tell Splotch I knew his real name was Stanley Okitd, that he was Japanese American, and that he was one of three Splotches who shared their powers across family lines. Hiro Okitd had been Splotch during the Sixties to the Eighties, his eldest son Steve had taken up the mantle from the Nineties to the New Millennium, and then Stanley replaced his brother from 2001 onward. Diabloman had figured out the secret identities of most superheroes during his days as a villain. He’d left all his notes at the Warren Estate and I’d gone through them as part of my plan to be a better superhero.
It bothered me that, if Diabloman were to go off the deep end, then there would be nothing stopping him from going after all the heroes with secret identities. Generally, people who were invulnerable like Gabrielle or Guinevere didn’t bother with them. Also, most “rational” supervillains knew that as lethal as it was to kill a superhero, it was ten times worse to go after their families. Aquarius had his child murdered by Whipray the Undersea Executioner and fed the guy to a shark. Since then, he’d personally killed virtually every supervillain who went after people’s families. Some people had gotten the message, others hadn’t.
“Yeah, I heard about you giving up the supervillainy thing,” Splotch said. “Why?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, surprised by that.
I saw the Red Condor’s corpse had landed—well crashed—nearby and decided to go check to see if there was anything salvageable. He had been a crazy old buzzard and a murderer, but no one deserved to be executed from behind like that. Well, nobody who wasn’t a Nazi, slaver, or guy who abused animals.
“Well, you weren’t really much of a villain, Merciless,” Splotch said, continuing to talk only with our codenames. I suspected it was just force of habit at this point. “You did a lot of good for a lot of people while pretending to be a bad guy.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” I said, simply. “It’s just I wasn’t quite as bad as the people around me. Being a hero isn’t that far from being a villain.”
Splotch didn’t accept my logic. “Actually, it is literally as far from the concept as possible. It’s what’s called an opposite or antithesis. You learn about these things on Sesame Street or the first grade usually. Bad is not good. Up is not down. Football is not soccer, despite how many other countries get it wrong. You know.”
“Yes, well I wanted to be a hero-hero,” I said, pausing. “But it turns out being a hero is actually hard despite me not being much of a villain.”
“Tell me about it,” Splotch said. “The Splotch Family has three generations of being hated, hounded, and treated like crap. I think the one time that Ultragod ever got a negative review in the press was when he said my dad was a good man.”
Much to my surprise, I found the Red Condor wasn’t dead. Mostly because he was never alive. He was just a busted up and damaged android. “Well, this is weird.”
“Yeah, Old Man Cortez died years ago,” Splotch replied. “He’s had his work carried on by Real BoyTM dolls programmed to act like him. Another one will probably pop up in a week, just as cranky as the previous ones. Personally, I’m not sure what the benefit of carrying out petty acts of terrorism and theft are as a legacy but I’m not a supervillain.”
“If you love something, do it professionally,” I said.
“I doubt my wife would appreciate a career as a professional lover for me,” Splotch said. “I’m also not sure whether it’s possible to make a living surfing the internet for news about yourself.”
“Such a shame,” I replied. “But yes, I want to help Atlas City but I’m just not doing a good job. Technically, I’m supposed to be undercover, but the supervillains think I’m a cop and the cops think I’m a supervillain.”
“A clever plan!” Splotch said. “Well, if you’d like to go patrolling, I can show you some of my tricks for rescuing civilians while a hated rogue.”
I blinked, processing that. Truth be told, I didn’t have that many friends in the superhero world. I also didn’t have many friends back in the normal world. I could blame it on the cold, solitary life of a supervillain but truth be told it was a combination of the fact I was an enormous jackass with the unfortunate business back at the Hollow Earth driving most of my friends away. It would be nice to be friends with someone who, masked menace or not, was a guy I’d admired since childhood.
“Yeah, I think that would be good,” I said. “I’m doing something wrong and I could use some advice on making it right.”
“Being a hero is trying to do what’s right, not necessarily succeeding.”
“That sounds like terrible advice.”
“What did being a supervillain get you?”
“Billions of dollars, true love, and two children. Oh, and I saved the world on multiple occasions.”
Splotch paused. “I feel like there’s a lesson here but not one I necessarily want to learn.”
“Evil will always triumph over good because good is dumb.”
Splotch laughed and made finger guns. “Ha-ha. You made a reference to a movie and that is somehow funny because it’s a thing I recognize.”
Yeah, there was a wee bit of criticism there.
“I’m sensing I may have to up my humor game,” I said.
“Welcome to the big leagues, kid,” Splotch replied, ignoring that he was my age. “It’s not about how strong, fast, or heroic you are. It’s all about the quips and I am the Master.”
“See, I’d have said I am your Mister Miyagi.”
“And that is why you fail,” Splotch said, adopting a Yoda voice.
We didn’t get to talk more because Mayor Melanie Spencer crawled out of the wreckage of the car, seemingly no worse for wear. The woman stared daggers at both of us and began shouting at a level I didn’t think possible for someone of her frame. “This is what’s ruining our city! Criminal hooligans like you two! I’ll see you all arrested! Do you think Atlas City has problems with superheroes now? Well, just wait—”
Splotch pointed at her. “See, this is why I don’t bother trying to get people to like me.”
“My history with politicians is mixed,” I said. “You know, what with the time traveling Nazi president.”
“We don’t speak of him anymore,” Splotch said, taking off. “Last one to the center of the city is a rotten egg.”
“And you’re supposed to teach me about quips?” I said, taking off behind him.
“Hey, don’t leave me here!” Mayor Spencer shouted from behind us.