Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

by Chris Strange

  “Obsidian!” he called, before he remembered she was off with Navigatron and O’Connor preparing Hyperion.

  “Aw, hey now, don’t look so glum,” came a voice from behind him. “All couples fight, but I’m sure she’ll be back before you know it.”

  He spun, bringing his blade up to guard. The cloaked man just stood there, his smile half-hidden by shadow, his eyes glowing behind his mask. Morgan returned the smile.

  “Too honourable to strike a man while his back’s turned, Carpenter?”

  “Not really.”

  The corner of something heavy slammed into Morgan’s lower back. An explosion went off in his kidney that matched the one in his head. He stumbled forwards. The Carpenter seemed to flash, bringing his staff streaking towards Morgan’s face.

  He got his shield up. Sparks flew as the staff rebounded. Morgan gritted his teeth against the shockwave that rolled through him. He ducked another strike and lunged, but the Carpenter planted his staff and leapt backwards.

  The Carpenter’s eyes crackled. Morgan caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He twisted and sliced another flying wooden crate in two before it could strike him. Another two came at him from opposite sides. He slashed at them and dived back. The sliced fragments flew at him, pelting him from every side. He put his reserve energy into his shield and let it take the hits.

  The Carpenter grinned at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back even as the wood hammered at his shield. “You’re quick, Carpenter.”

  “Cheers. You a fan? Want me to sign that fancy magic sword of yours?”

  “You should’ve killed me while my back was turned.”

  He shrugged. “Old dogs, old habits, all that.”

  “You’ll come to regret that, you know. I told you that on the radio. These aren’t the old days.”

  They moved in a lazy circle. Every now and then a gunshot or a shout would punctuate their silence, but back here in the stacks they had a degree of privacy. He could smell the stink of panic in the air. He hadn’t had time to properly train his people on defensive operations. They were warriors, barbarians, not soldiers. No matter. Once the lights came back on, Spook and the Carpenter would be no match for their numbers.

  “So, where’s Sam?” the Carpenter said.

  Morgan let his smile grow. “And here I thought you came to stop me taking over the world.”

  “Nah, that’s the B-plot. Give us the kid, maybe we’ll put in a good word for you when you get arrested.”

  Morgan laughed, and he didn’t even have to fake it. “I’m sure your Metahuman Division will appreciate your earnest testimony.”

  The Carpenter jabbed high. His staff sizzled when Morgan batted it away with his shield. In return Morgan feinted left, sweeping right at the last second. The Carpenter darted back, sending another three crates flying to block his retreat. Morgan cut them from the air. Stillness returned.

  “Carpenter,” came another voice from up above. Morgan sidestepped away from the voice to bring the speaker into view without putting his back to the Carpenter.

  “Yeah, mate?” the Carpenter said.

  Morgan spotted her now. She crouched atop a crate, her trench coat draped around her like a crow’s wings.

  “I’ve searched every bloody room,” she said. “Nothing.”

  A twitch of the Carpenter’s mouth was the only expression he gave, but it was amusing nonetheless. “Ah,” Morgan said, “the esteemed Spook. But you don’t mind if I call you Niobe, do you?”

  In the glow of his blade, he could see the Carpenter’s eyes widening behind his mask. Morgan shifted his feet slightly, preparing for the Carpenter to lunge. Spook disappeared and reappeared on the ground. Her goggles gleamed in the light.

  “Not at all, Morgan.”

  His throat closed up for a moment, and the muscles in his cheek froze. Then he laughed. There was nothing else he could do. “Oh, you two are good. This is more fun than I could ever have anticipated.”

  Spook raised her gun and fired. His shield was up, but there were no sparks. She missed at this range? Then he heard the choked cry of one of his people collapsing behind him. She turned the gun on him.

  “There’s a secret room,” she said. “A trapdoor. Something like that. Where?”

  “Are you going to shoot me, Spook?”

  Car tyres screeched outside.

  “Where is it?” she demanded.

  Doors slammed, and he heard someone trying to wrench open the loading bay’s roller doors. His people wouldn’t stop shouting.

  “Mate, we gotta go,” the Carpenter said.

  “You invited your friends?” Morgan asked. “I thought we were going to keep this personal.”

  The Carpenter took a step back and glanced at her. “Spook.”

  “Not without Sam.” Her gun hand never trembled. “Where is he?”

  Morgan smiled at her.

  “We can’t find him if we’re banged up,” the Carpenter said. “We’ll come back when the coppers are gone. We’ll find him. But we gotta get lost, and it’s gotta be now.”

  “Where is he?” she screamed.

  Sam pressed his ear to the door of his cell. It had gone quiet. There had been banging. Shouting. Then nothing.

  “Help!” he hollered, his throat raw and aching. He hammered on the steel again and again.

  Pain. He hurt everywhere. His hands were streaked with blood. It was the only way to get the blackness out. It stuck to him; it was everywhere, in his veins, in his flesh, in his soul. He no longer noticed the taste of blood when he gnawed through his skin.

  He was so alone. He’d always been alone. He couldn’t remember what was outside anymore, but he had to get there. Something deep inside told him that. Maybe it was a hallucination. He had those a lot. Maybe this whole room was a hallucination. Maybe he was a hallucination.

  “Help,” he said again, but his voice was quieter now. Who was he calling to? He couldn’t remember. But the noises outside meant something. Outside. Yes, outside. There was sunlight, he knew. Sunlight that smelled like sweat and salt and wind. And there were people there. Family. His uncle, yes. And people he could meet. Pretty girls swimming in the ocean.

  Remember. Remember Dantès. Remember your father.

  Something deep in his chest shifted. It spread through him like boiling water. The energy. He shivered. Dimly, he recalled a tale about his father. No one came to save his father when he was trapped and dying. But he’d wanted to see his family again. So he’d concentrated on the energy running through him, the energy given to him by the weapon he’d created.

  A far-away wrenching sound shattered the silence. Boots stomped somewhere above his head. They wouldn’t find him. He was somewhere hidden, that much was obvious. Some of the fog began to clear from his mind.

  He stepped back from the door and let the energy drip through him, just like his father had. He could feel it in his skin, in his fingers, warm and tingling and electric. With a little push, it began to flow inwards, towards his chest. It began to build, slowly filling him up drip by drip.

  The pain faded as the warmth grew. It almost made him sleepy. When was the last time he truly slept? But no, he couldn’t sleep now. Not now. He had one chance to get out of this hole, to see the world again. One chance. The energy filled him to the brim. And it kept flowing.

  The pressure built in his chest. No, wait. Stop. It was too much. He couldn’t handle it. He felt like he was swelling, expanding. The energy needed to escape. It should be pouring out his eyes and ears and mouth. No. I can’t take more. He tried to stop the energy flowing, tried to push it back out to his extremities. But it was like trying to turn back a river with a teaspoon. Shivers ran down his spine, through every inch of him. The world swayed, and he was on his knees. Too much. It’s too much. I can’t take it!

  The energy exploded inside him. He was on fire, burning, burning forever. He was a pile of embers, he was ash.

  He lived.

  His skin parted in a thousand p
laces, but there was no pain. Just power. Through the cuts in his skin came sheets of shining metal, gleaming beneath the fluorescent light. The extra bulk shredded his shirt and coated his skin, forming a layer of interlocking scales. Strength rippled through him. He knew what to do. Someone had shown him.

  The metal plates in his cheeks clinked together as he smiled.

  His fist struck the steel door with the heat of a thousand suns. It screamed, glowing red, and flew off its hinges, shattering the concrete of the opposite wall. The building groaned. His mind had been murky as the sea, but not now. Now he could see.

  He stepped out of the cell. No, he didn’t move; the world moved beneath him. He was invincible. Shouts and movement came from upstairs, but there was no hurry. He was going to see his uncle again, and the sun, and the sea. He was Dantès. He was free.

  Spindly fingers wrapped around his throat. Something sharp drove itself between the plates in his side and kept driving. The metal scales screeched and retreated into his skin. His back arched as the strength slipped away from him. No. Oh God, no!

  “Did it forget me, hmmm?”

  Doll Face’s stench filled Sam’s nostrils. His hands went to his throat, trying to pry away the fingers. Please. He groped for the energy, but it was gone. Something worm-like crawled along his cheek and touched the corner of his mouth.

  “They’re taking the Pretty Man away. It’s just Doll Face and the boy, now.” The creature giggled, and Sam’s vision blurred.

  More worms on his face, in his mouth. As one, they began to slide down his throat. He gagged, eyes stinging, but he couldn’t move.

  “Did it hear that? Nothing to stop Doll Face now. Doll Face will enjoy the cutting.”

  Somewhere deep in Sam’s mind, something cracked. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  21: Always in the Last Place You Look

  It’s easy to condemn when you’ve never been through the same thing yourself. I’d just buried my husband and my daughter. Or I would have, if there’d been anything left to bury after Magnon shrunk them down and crushed them. So yeah, I tracked Magnon down, and yeah, I killed him. And now you’re asking me how I got through all his henchmen and took down the supercriminal himself when I’m just a normal? I’ll tell you how. I hit them harder and faster than anyone else had. I was willing to go further than any hero. I had no time for mercy.

  —Court transcript from the trial of Pamela Jenkins (aka the Lioness), 1958

  Even from the shadow of the alley, Niobe could see the smug way Quanta strutted out of the warehouse. It made no difference that a hood covered his face and energy cuffs bound his hands together. The squad of Met Div officers surrounding him could have been an honour guard, escorting him from his limousine to accept an award for supervillain of the year.

  She tapped the dashboard with her finger, trying to hold back the magma inside her. Sam was in there, she knew it. But the cape coppers were swarming around the place like ants, loading metas into vans and high-sec transport trucks under half a dozen floodlights. It didn’t make it any easier that she was the one who called them in the first place. She’d had to; it was Quanta’s territory. She could only have given his gang the run-around for so long before they got their act together and brought their numbers to bear. She needed the cavalry.

  She could see Senior Sergeant Wallace barking orders at men a good head taller than him. The coppers obeyed without question. It was probably the moustache that did it. His mouth kept moving, but his gaze never left Quanta as his men loaded him into the biggest truck they had. The vehicle was armour-plated with a field generator on the roof, and by the looks of it, the bastard had the whole thing to himself.

  The Carpenter lowered his binoculars and slouched down behind the steering wheel. “I count thirty-one arrested so far. No bodies. You didn’t kill anyone, right?”

  She lifted her mask and jammed a cigarette between her lips. “Stun rounds only. I got maybe nine or ten of them before I came to talk to you.” She clicked the button on her auto-lighter, but the damn thing was on the fritz. Bloody hell. “Surprised none of them killed their mates, the amount of firepower they were putting out.” One of them had sent a throwing knife her way, and it would’ve got her if she hadn’t gone into shadow the same instant.

  “He sure went quiet.” Solomon sounded like he was talking to himself.

  She banged the auto-lighter against the dashboard and tried again. Nothing. “Bugger it,” she grumbled, snatching the unlit smoke from her mouth. “What did you say?”

  The Carpenter pushed his hat back. “Quanta. He’s fast, Niobe. And I’ll bet my life savings that shield of his is bullet-proof.”

  “You don’t have any life savings.”

  “None that you know of.” He put the binoculars back to his face. “Maybe the coppers would’ve got him eventually, but he could’ve served up a nice helping of decapitations first.”

  She didn’t give a damn what the bastard did. She wasn’t much enamoured of Met Div or the AAU’s metahuman laws, but they’d throw the book at him for what he’d done, and it would be a big bloody book. That was some kind of satisfaction.

  Quanta knew her name, though. That grated. But she couldn’t see how he could use it against her now. Even if he sold it to Senior Sergeant Wallace for a deal, she and Gabby would be sitting cozy in a lunar rocket by the time he came knocking.

  “Come on,” she said. “They’re not leaving here for a few hours. I’m starving. Let’s come back when they’ve shipped everyone off.”

  “Wait,” he said, peering through the binoculars. “Who’s that guy? Doesn’t look like much of a supercriminal to me.”

  “Is it Daniel O’Connor?” She switched up her magnification.

  “Not unless he shrunk in the wash.”

  It took her a moment to figure out who he was talking about, then she spotted him. The man was young, less than thirty, shortish, and a bit flabby. All the metas being led out around him were in costume, but this guy was dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt. A single cape copper escorted him.

  “I got bells going off in my head,” Solomon said. “Do you know him?”

  “I saw him in there when I was searching for Sam. Just hiding in an office. He didn’t see me, so I left him alone. Can’t say he looks familiar, though.”

  It was a curiosity, but she couldn’t see what the Carpenter was getting so worked up about. She switched off her magnification and glanced at him while he chewed his lip.

  “I got it,” he said, snapping his fingers. “He’s a reporter. British guy. Uh…somebody Bishop. John Bishop, that’s it.”

  “Friend of yours?”

  “I saw him on TV once. He’s a newspaper kid, I think, but he was in the spotlight for a while for some stories he did on a coup in Syria.”

  She looked again, but he still didn’t seem familiar. Then again, she and Gabby didn’t own a TV. “He doesn’t look happy about being hauled away. Hostage?”

  “Could be.”

  The copper helped John Bishop into the back of a marked car. After a few minutes, some of the full vehicles formed a convoy and rumbled back towards the city. Eventually, the Carpenter lowered his binoculars again and smiled at her.

  “How about that grub?” he said.

  They changed into civilian clothes and found an all-night truck stop and diner on the main road at the fringe of the industrial district. Apart from a single trucker sitting in the corner, they had the place to themselves. The mashed potato was lumpy and the steak was tough, but Niobe gobbled it down all the same. At least it was hot. She’d forgotten how hungry combat made her.

  She expected Solomon to be more excited. He got to play superhero again, and they caught the bad guy. Well, someone caught him, anyway. When she’d finished her meal and he was only halfway through his burger, she tried asking him what was wrong. He just grinned and said, “That guy was fast. He’d give Omegaman a run for his money.” But the grin faded quickly.

  She was finishing off her secon
d glass of lemonade when the Met Div vehicles started going past in convoys of three or four. The trucker in the corner noticed them too. His wide face furrowed all over as he squinted out the window, but he stayed silent until he finished his meal, waved goodbye to the waitress, and walked back to his truck.

  Niobe kept count of the vehicles. After another half hour, she downed the last of her drink. “That’s all of them. Let’s go.”

  When they got back to the warehouse, it was nearly deserted. Most of the floodlights were gone, and police tape covered the entrances. They parked a block away, changed back into costume, and walked the rest of the way. No traffic on the roads, not even a bird perched on the power lines. While the Carpenter climbed to the rooftop opposite to observe the front, Niobe did a quick circuit of the compound, popping in and out of shadows.

  She emerged from the shadow and crouched beside the Carpenter on the rooftop. “Four coppers in two pairs, patrolling. Each pair’s got a radio. Looks like their plan is to call for backup and run like hell if any angry supercriminals show up.”

  The Carpenter lowered his binoculars and nodded. “Got us an entrance?”

  “Same as last time.”

  They stayed clear of the streetlights as they crossed the road and moved silently along the fence line. The pair of cape coppers on the other side of the chain links weren’t the most diligent on the force; one of them had slung his rifle over his back to better hold his cigarette, while the other was so nervous he looked ready to put a round in the first stray cat unlucky enough to wander past. Niobe and Solomon waited until the coppers rounded the corner, then he pole vaulted the fence and she slipped through the shadow. Quiet as roaches, they scrambled up the stairs, cracked the lock on the door, and went inside.