Society of heroes with indeterminate talent
By Sebastian H. Alive
Mailto:[email protected]
Twitter: @sebastianhalive
Published by Sebastian H. Alive
License Notes
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright 2015 Sebastian H. Alive
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Works by Sebastian H. Alive
The Bible - The unofficial, official account that's not entirely true…
The Holy Trinity (Trilogy)
Jesus is my flatmate, I kid you not!
Satan is my trailer buddy, I kid you not!
The life and deaths of Theodore Platt
The elite program
Society of heroes with indeterminate talent
R.A.S.H (Rent.A.Super.Hero)
The weirdness of irrelevance trilogy (Trilogy)
The darker I fall
11:11
Lords of the immoral land
The sword of Krillia
End of heroes
The damned twins
Four Gods
Calloway
Kings of sons
The peculiarity of Arthur Wilsbury
At the touch of a button (short story)
Clanwilliam (released winter 2015)
1.
A secret location located somewhere secret
"Welcome to the SHIT convention," said Agent One with a look of abject boredom on his face. "Please state your name and super power."
Agent One sat motionless, holding his pen poised over the piece of paper as he stared up at the barrel-chested black man with the orange beard and muscles seemingly carved from granite, who was next in line.
After a few long and uncomfortable seconds of silence, the agent tapped the bottom of his pen against the wooden table he was sat at, and then flicked a glance to his colleague, Agent Two, who was sat next to him before looking back.
"I take it super-hearing is not one of your amazing powers?" queried Agent One sighing out loud and rubbing his tired eyes with a thumb and forefinger.
"I am Metal Man," boomed the black man planting his hands on his hips, sticking out his chest and thrusting his chin towards the ceiling.
Agent One stifled a yawn behind a closed fist and nodded his head before writing something down on the paper.
"What is your real name?"
"Do I have to tell you that?" asked Metal Man frowning. "I mean, it's like my true identity."
Spreading his hands apologetically, Agent One pointed at the paper on the table with his pen.
"It asks for it on the form and it has an asterisk next to it, which means it’s a required answer."
"Oh!" replied Metal Man scratching his orange beard and thinking deeply for a few long moments.
Agent One craned his neck and looked at the long line of people queuing up behind him and rolled his wrist, looking forlornly at his watch.
"My eyelids are starting to spasm. Is that one of your superpowers?" asked the agent.
"No, I don’t think so."
"Then let us move on. Name…your real name?"
Clearing his throat Metal Man looked around nervously then leant in close to whisper to the two seated agents.
"John Henry."
"Thank you Mr. Henry, and what is your occupation?"
"I am a guardian and a protector of the innocents, fighting injustice and…,"
Agent Two raised his hand to stop John who stuttered to silence with another frown on his face.
"We mean your day job, you know, outside of the whole superhero job."
"I'm…erm…I'm a primary school teacher for under 11's," said John, with a satisfied smile on his face. "But I want to convert to secondary eventually."
"That's fine," murmured Agent One looking down and ticking something on the paper. "And you call yourself Metal Man, so am I right in guessing you have control over solid materials?"
"Yup, I can form metal at will with my hands." said John proudly.
Agent One glanced at Agent Two, then placed the pen on the table and steepled his fingers in anticipation as John nodded his head excitedly. He then shifted from foot to foot as the agents stared up at him in expectation.
"Good turnout today, don’t you think?" remarked John, pointing a thumb over his broad shoulder.
"You do understand we need to actually see you exhibit some form of superpower to be considered for the program, don’t you, John?"
"Right, okay then. I’m just a little nervous."
Flexing his fingers, John cracked his knuckles then put his hands together and breathed out slowly.
For the briefest of seconds there was a slight amber glow from within his closed fists and when he slowly opened them there was two small pieces of metal resting against the skin of his palm.
Agent One squinted at the small pieces of metal and stood up from his chair, then plucked them from John's hand, passing one to his colleague and holding the other close to his eyes as he sat back down.
"That's a paper-clip, John!"
"Yes, yes it is."
"It's looped cheap steel commonly used to hold paper together, John!"
"Yes, amazing isn’t it?"
"A totally underrated ability John, and thanks for sharing it with us today. Please move along and we will be in touch if you are chosen for the program."
"Wait, I can generate other metallic objects, like furniture tacks and small headed nails. Do you want to see?"
"That won't be necessary John, although I will make a note of it on your comments field. Thank you." said Agent One, offering his best-fake smile.
"I appreciate you guys seeing me," gushed John, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Say, do you have a toilet? I don’t like touching metal and like to wash my hands immediately afterwards."
"Go through the exit door, down the corridor and it's on your right, you can't miss it." answered Agent Two.
Nodding his head John ambled off, looked once back over his shoulder at the two agents before punching the air in delight and vanishing from view through the exit door of the underground compound.
“He’s completely ready to go into the field.” mumbled Agent One sarcastically, as he turned to his colleague.
“Absolutely agree, Agent One.”
“Remind me again, why were we chosen for the casting auditions for the ‘have-a-go-heroes’ program?”
“There’s a reason why our office at the agency is to the rear of the ground floor, one rung from having our feet in the water,” replied Agent Two. “It’s an opportunity to get a few rungs up the ladder, one step at a time. Don’t worry, we’ll get noticed.”
“Seriously, though! Would you consider any of these candidates as suitable to be part of a crime-fighting, superpower team?” asked Agent One sifting through the papers on the table. “Look at this one, Crumpet Girl! She omits high velocity griddle cakes made from flour and yeast from her body when she’s nervous. Are you seriously suggesting we should unleash that sort of firepower on the streets of London?”
“Wonderfully indulgent,” said Agent Two, through a mouthful of crumpet. “May I al
so add, they are deliciously soft and spongy.”
“You’re not taking this seriously, Agent Two.”
“I just follow my orders, Agent One. You read the briefing. We’re responsible for the selection criteria to build a super team capable of taking some of the pressure off the shoulders of the real super heroes out there. Yes, some of their powers might come across as slightly unusual and unorthodox but…,”
“Unorthodox?” cried Agent One, wafting a piece of paper in front of the eyes of his colleague. “I have one here called The Mystic Masseur and his super power is that he offers deep tissue massages.”
“Fighting crime can be quite stressful, and I can see a situation where relaxation is needed in the heat of battle.”
“Humor me for a moment, and imagine this scenario played out in your head. We’re in the middle of a bank heist. There’s terrified hostages held captive inside by armed robbers. The situation is tense and there may be a shootout because the skilled negotiator has managed to convince the robbers that there is no escape and it’s a shoot-on-sight policy because he was bullied at school and everyone hates a bully. The robbers respond by demanding that the vault is opened and they be given guaranteed safe passage otherwise they’ll start killing the hostages one by one. But the negotiator knows a bully when he sees one, they use violence and intimidate to make others act in their interests, and he isn’t backing down, no way, after all, pretty much everyone hates a bully, right?
So, a decision is made to call in the special forces from the ‘have-a-go-heroes’ secret program. These are the fall back option when all else fails, people whose genetic make-up is different to you and I because they have special abilities to deal with situations such as this. The world comes together in hope as up steps… The Mystic Masseur, with his aromatherapy massage credentials, calming scents, body mists and massage oils. His action plan is brutally simple, he plans to knead parts of the robber's bodies to stimulate circulation and send them to sleep. Do you understand where I’m coming from now?”
“It might work!” offered Agent Two.
“The whole agency will be a complete laughing stock.”
“It’s all about picking the right members that make up the correct team composition. Look, keep an open mind and let’s just see some more candidates because that line isn’t getting any shorter.”
“Fine, okay.” grumbled Agent One, sighing loudly. “Next.”
Up stepped a thin short pasty-white freckled boy with dark circles under his eyes and brilliantly red curly hair.
His hands were stuffed into his trouser pockets as he shuffled forward with a bemused look on his pale face.
"Welcome to the SHIT convention," said Agent One, with another look of boredom on his face. "Please state your name and super power."
“Are you two agents?” asked the boy, wiping his nose with his finger and sniffing loudly.
“Yes, I’m Agent One and this is my colleague, Agent Two.”
“Juan,” said the boy nodding his head and looking around disinterested. "You don’t sound Spanish.”
“That would be my Britishness getting in the way of that. No, I’m Agent One, and he is Agent Two, as in the number equal to the sum of one plus one.”
“Oh, right!” replied the boy still looking around the underground compound as if he didn’t know where he was.
“You do know why you're here, don’t you?” asked Agent One, winching at the expected answer.
“Erm…I'm not sure really. I received a coded message to my superhero mainframe to attend this.”
“You mean you received the email to your hotmail?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Say, where did you say I was again?”
“The SHIT convention. Did you not see the roller banners by the entrance with the planet on it?” asked Agent One mystified.
“That was a planet?”
“Yes.”
“A planet of shit?”
“No, no, no,” said Agent One, exhaling loudly and smiling through gritted teeth. “You are at the Society of heroes with indeterminate talent convention, and we’re looking for people that can join our ‘have-a-go-hero’ program.”
“But you said SHIT convention.” said the boy, picking something in his teeth, examining it closely in detail before popping it back into his mouth.
“I told you didn’t I?” interrupted Agent Two. “You'll get this every time. Don’t abbreviate the name, it confuses people.”
“Okay, so I’ll start again. Welcome to the Society of heroes with indeterminate talent convention. Please state your name and super power.”
“Hi, my name is Trevor and my alter-ego is Sunscreen.” screeched the boy, raising his voice a couple of octaves.
“Well, you have the complexion of A4 paper, so I guess your superpower is to ward off the sun?” remarked Agent One, chuckling out loud and nudging Agent Two in the ribs.
“That is my power!” replied Trevor looking mystified. “Have you already heard of me?”
“Wait! Your power is the ability to avoid catching the sun?”
“Yes, my skin deflects sunlight and has superhuman properties.”
Agent One looked across to Agent Two, then gently placed his pen onto the table and took a deep breath.
“Well Trevor, here’s the bad news. You don’t have any superpowers.”
“Yes I do.” countered the boy sulkily.
“In my opinion Trevor, and I’m sure my colleague Agent Two will back me up on this, judging by your outward appearance, you don’t actually have any super powers whatsoever – you’re just, well how can I put this? Ginger! It’s not uncommon and in fact 2% of the population has this gene, and I would wager it runs in your family.”
Trevor blinked rapidly a few times and stared down at the ground and mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that, Trevor?”
“I said I also have waterproof hair.” he mumbled.
“A common myth to red-heads, Trevor, but I’ll impart some valuable advice. Ginger hair is the most prone to sun-induced fading, so keep hiding under parasols. Remember also, you have increased vulnerability to melanomas so keep slapping on that sun-cream and if possible stay nocturnal…and don’t produce any offspring. Next!”
Trevor kicked out at the table leg with his foot then stomped away in a huff as Agent One crumpled up the piece of paper and tossed it over his shoulder.
“I think he took that rather well.” said Agent One, watching as Trevor yanked open the exit door, turned and flipped them the finger, then slammed it shut behind him.
“Never tick off a ginger. They’re violently unpredictable and the full extent of their powers is not yet known.”
“Being ginger is not and never will be classed as having a superhuman ability.”
“But they do have ginger rage which is a violence only a ginger can possess.”
“True Agent Two, maybe one to watch as a potential future villain. Next!”
Suddenly there came the sound of squeaking rubber wheels as a frail old lady with iron grey hair pushed a sack barrow to the front of the queue.
Strapped upright to the frame of the barrow was a thin middle-aged man with receding dark hair wearing a black eye mask.
“Welcome to the Society of heroes with indeterminate talent convention. Please state your name and super power.” said Agent One picking up his pen.
“Hi there, my name is Gary and this is my mum who is pushing me, Ethel. We’re a crime-fighting duo like Batman and Robin.”
“A stunning comparison, but it is nice to meet you, Gary and Ethel. What is your superhero identity?”
“I am Inanimate man.”
There was a momentary pause as the agents let the words sink in.
“Agent Two would you care to handle this one?” asked Agent One, with a wide beaming smile on his face.
Agent Two shifted uncomfortably in his seat and offered Ethel a smile who returned it with a mouth full of pink gums.
“So…you
lack the ability of motion, which is why your own mother moves you around on this sack barrow?”
“Yes.” replied Gary simply. “Is there a problem?”
“Just to clarify, you do not have the qualities associated with movement?”
“Not from the neck down. I have Motor Neuron Disease.”
Agent Two scratched his head and cleared his throat for a moment.
“Just explain to us, Gary. In what way do you see this disease as a superhero ability?”
“Well, I can chase villains down much faster if they’re walking. I clocked a speed of 6.5mph the other day.”
“Impressive,” muttered Agent Two, trying to look impressed. “That is, unless the villains run away of course?”
“Then my mum will push me faster.” countered Gary. “Won't you mum?”
“I’ll try my best, son.” croaked Ethel.
“Okay, let’s assume then that you’re faster than the average walking villain Gary, but you’re still dependant on your mother pushing you to reach these speeds, right?”
“She likes the fresh air and exercise.”
“I still see a few flaws in this incredible, dynamic partnership. Out of curiosity, what would you do if you did happen to catch up with a villain, because you can’t move your body to apprehend or attack?”
“We would address them politely but firmly, and ask them to stop whatever crime they were committing. If they resisted, then we would report them to the police.”
“Brilliant answer Gary and one the crime community will certainly respond to, I’m sure. Finally, and I’ll say this quite tactfully, but isn’t motor neuron disease a progressive incurable disease which ultimately results in death?”
“That’s right.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause.
“Yeah, I don’t think you're quite right for this program because of the whole looming death thing, and to be truthful Gary, your mother should really be at home or in a home, but thanks for wheeling in. Next!”
A gaunt looking man with long, lank greasy brown hair and wearing a long dark trench coat strode toward the table with an air of superiority.
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