We Could Be Heroes

by Mike Chen

  It was a terrible plan.

  At the same time, given everything they’d been through, a terrible plan seemed fitting.

  Maybe it wasn’t better than winging it.

  Laughter overtook Jamie, starting with his breath and working his way to his eyes and shoulders until it was a full body chuckle, the sheer absurdity of it all sinking in. What were they doing? Locked up in the back of a police car, scheming to somehow lead an army of cops and media to a top-secret test facility in order to stop a mad scientist with extraordinary abilities and some guy made out of electricity?

  “Is that your villain cackle or are you just losing your shit?”

  Deep breaths. And a countdown. Jamie re-centered himself, then blinked several times to focus. “A little bit of both,” he said.

  “Uh-oh,” Zoe said. “I think they heard you.”

  “Hey. Mind Robber.” First a shout came through the closed door, the echo loud enough to be audible, then a tap on the window with a nightstick. “You think this is funny?”

  Jamie looked up, tears still crawling down his cheeks, and with handcuffs on, he couldn’t do anything about them, even though he tried to wipe them with his shoulder. “We’ll be fine. We make a good team.”

  “Right. Remember I can still punch my way out of this.”

  “I thought your powers were fluctuating.”

  “Even still. I can take them.”

  “No punching. That’s not going to help right now. Those are cops, remember? Not mercs hired by Kaftan. Just follow my lead,” Jamie said. “I’m good at these speeches.”

  “Yes and no on that,” Zoe said. “You’re better than me. And yet we’re still in here.”

  The voices outside intensified before the familiar click-thump of the door’s handle broke through the space. “Here we go,” Jamie said with a nod. “Just follow my lead. We’ll convince them. We have to. Remember—”

  The door flew open, and before Jamie could finish his sentence, two hands grabbed him and yanked him out of the car. His eye mask dangled around his neck by its elastic strings as they jerked him forward, and suddenly any speeches or even opening lines went blank on him. Something jabbed him in the gut, stealing any breath before he could open his mouth. Instead, he tried to keep moving while they carried him, one officer each grabbing an arm, and dragged him toward a door. He craned his neck to look at Zoe, but he didn’t even manage to make eye contact before a buzzing sound cut into the air and he was pulled through a door.

  Behind him, the door buzzed again, and the sound of locks and latches snapped into his ears. Somewhere back in the parking lot, Zoe sat by herself.

  “So,” a new officer said, “we’ve finally got the Mind Robber.”

  Zoe was right.

  This was a terrible plan.

  31

  WHY DID ZOE LISTEN to Jamie?

  As she sat in the police interrogation room, hands and feet chained to the table, all she could think about was the last thing she said to him: This is a terrible plan.

  Because it was. Look at where it got them, Jamie locked away somewhere and her pinned down to a table. Physically being pinned down by chains didn’t bother her too much. Even though her powers fluctuated, she could at least feel when they were and weren’t working. She wasn’t at her strongest right now, but probably enough to snap out of the chains.

  But not fast or strong enough to outmaneuver four trained police officers with their guns on her. Even if she was at her peak, they still had the advantage.

  They’d been silent since escorting her in, the few things she’d said getting a response of stony silence. Guess they were ordered not to say anything to her.

  Finally, the door opened and in strode Chesterton. Someone who hopefully would talk to her.

  “Zoe Wong,” he said, tossing some papers on the small desk. Was that her profile? She nearly asked to look at them, in case they offered a hint to her actual past. He scooted the chair out before sitting down in front of her, his key ring jingling with his movement. “The Throwing Star. San Delgado’s hero. You know, my neighbor’s kid made a costume like you? Duct tape and trash bags. People think you’re cool. And you do good work. I mean, I’m not a fan of vigilantes, but street criminals are terrified of you. In a way, you’ve been an effective deterrent. But I’m guessing you didn’t think about the bigger picture. Because in some ways, you’ve made things worse.”

  “Worse?” Zoe finally got some conversation here and it came loaded with insults? She knew she should have suppressed her eye roll, but it came too naturally. Part of her wondered if the Zoe Wong of old, the pre–Throwing Star, pre–Telos Zoe Wong would have reacted the same way. Somehow, it felt ingrained, like it was part of her very core. “How does it get worse if more criminals are off the street?”

  “Bigger picture, remember? You attract a lot of attention. And criminals talk. Most know someone somehow that’s been taken out by you. So they’re terrified. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop doing what they’re doing. It just means they’re going to do their best to avoid you.” His tough-guy front shifted; his shoulders relaxed and his expression followed suit.

  Guess he felt bad for her.

  “They listen in on the police band, they have friends and rivals and all that stuff. Twenty years ago, when I first started, they didn’t have the means to communicate quickly. But now you have hashtag ThrowingStar and people reporting where they see you. So you take out one criminal, but that means all the other guys go to work on the other side of town. They know you’re busy. You can’t be everywhere at once. And guess who gets stretched thin by that?”

  “Oh,” Zoe said. “I, uh, didn’t think that would happen.”

  “There’s a system in place. It’s not perfect. I know there are problems. I want to change them. I wish it was better. But it got the job done as best as it could. What frustrates me is that you didn’t have to take things into your own hands. You could have worked with us, figured out the best way to use your abilities with us. Team up. But you didn’t. And now no one knows what to do with you.”

  One of the guards snorted, and Chesterton turned, shooting a dirty look that quieted the room.

  “Maybe I just promise to go home and watch a movie and that’s that? Have you ever used HorrorDomain? It’s free.”

  “Well, there’s the little matter of all those laws you broke.”

  Zoe nodded, but then started to tune out as Chesterton continued. It wasn’t so much that his words were boring or senseless, but more that her damn cat allergies came back. An itch tickled the tip of her nose, and the back of her neck, probably where Normal’s hair collected into her cowl. The itch had been coming and going for minutes now.

  “Hey, I got a stupid request,” Zoe said, interrupting him. “I have the worst itch at the back of my neck. It just comes and goes. And, oh, there it is again. Can you please scratch it?”

  The detective’s brow crinkled, and if only he had mental powers, he could see that she was being really, really, really sincere—this damn itch would not go away. But proof of it remained intangible to the detective at the table and the officers standing guard. The best she could do was add in another “Please?” He looked back and forth at the other police in the room; they nodded at him in turn, which ultimately led to him standing up, walking around the table and scratching the back of her neck.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Oh, jeez. I swear, my allergies. Never team up with someone who has a cat.” Zoe blew out a satisfied huff, and Chesterton went over to talk in private to the officers. She would have tuned up her hearing, focusing in on their whispered discussion but the itch came back and it just would not go away. She tilted her head back, rolling her head left and right and back again to try and get it to stop.

  Which it did. Completely vanished. Zoe relaxed and her eyes wandered to the red LED numbers on the wall, which ticked from 9:40
to 9:41. As it did, the itch started again.

  Jesus Christ. It was persistent, as if...

  As if it wanted her attention.

  Could Jamie be trying to break into her mind?

  Zoe sat straight up, thoughts suddenly whirring through her mind. Jamie, can you read this? she thought with intent. But he couldn’t do that, right? He said to her that reading memories was different from reading minds, which was why he couldn’t ever try to win big at a casino card table. It needed the mind to process and record things. Files saved on your computer, he’d said. Not live streaming.

  Alright, if that was Jamie, then he was trying to communicate with her. Or he might have given up and just wanted to be a jerk to her. But probably the former.

  So what could she say and retain to verify this? A simple test? While not giving herself away to the officers in the room?

  Zoe played the process back out in her head, from what little experience she had with it. The images presented themselves as a glorified movie, with the ability to replay and freeze. Thoughts weren’t part of it, it was simply audio/video captured by the brain. So any messages left for Jamie had to be extremely clear.

  He’d left messages chopped up into pieces, a code to be taken apart and put back together. This would require similar stealth. Except there were people in the room with Zoe.

  “Boy, I really felt those itches. It was like they were trying to...um...tell me something.”

  Okay. Not the smoothest. But at least the justice patrol on the other side of the room cared only enough to give her a short glance.

  The itch returned. Unlike before, this came and went in a blink, like a ping of notification on a phone.

  Maybe that’s what it was. Now to experiment. “So...two scratches would be a big yes. And one would be a no.” Chesterton shot another look her way. “By no, I mean like not enough. This shit itches. Got it?”

  A minute passed on the clock, though it felt like way more, everything moving in slow motion without any powers to cause it. Perhaps she’d imagined it all; Jamie could be locked away, incapacitated, knocked out, even dead.

  Ping.

  An itch, long enough to be noticed, but short enough to not be irritating.

  Then ten seconds later. Ping.

  He’d heard. Or saw, or however you put it. They were in business. Still stuck on the chair, Zoe’s excitement caught her practically bursting out of the handcuffs holding her down. She told herself to settle down, think this through. They could communicate in simple yes/no language. And their goal was to come back together.

  That meant she needed to see him. Not his true self, that wouldn’t be possible. But if his heat signature stood out, if the emotion captured enough intensity, that could do it.

  “I think I got it. Tell me when you’re ready.”

  This time, the detective’s focus remained steady in response. “Ready for what?” he asked.

  Above them, light bulbs flickered, though the camera in the corner maintained its solid red dot the entire time. They fell into darkness for several seconds before snapping back on.

  “Did you have something to do with that?” Chesterton asked.

  Zoe remained quiet, attention only on any impending sensations at the back of her neck.

  Two pings came in rapid succession.

  Jamie was listening. And she needed some way to find him.

  “I, uh...” Thinking was supposed to be Jamie’s part of their partnership. She ran around and punched people. This type of cleverness was hard enough without being watched. “So I don’t think I’ve ever really explained the way I sense heat signatures. Thing is with my powers, everyone assumes I’m all about speed and strength, but the heat signatures let me see people through walls and stuff. Like, the more you’re burning up, the better. Usually happens when you feel an emotion. If you’re super sad or pissed or whatever. Your body flushes and your heart rate goes up. And maybe wave. That would stand out.”

  “Okay, now I’m really confused,” Chesterton said. “You’re talking about...body temperature?”

  There. Two pings, a binary acknowledgment to say yes, he got it.

  So, he’d feel something strong, something to make himself stand out from the crowd. And she’d have to use her thermal detection to find him. Problem was, all of their experiments since leaving Richard’s place showed that anything mental left her drained.

  Zoe looked at the clock. Nine forty-five now. Maybe a few minutes for them both to prepare. “Nine fifty looks like a good time to feel a lot of things.”

  This time, every officer looked at the clock. Then back at her. Zoe offered a smile, though she had no idea how her forced grins played off to outside observers. She really needed more friends than just lapsed bank robbers. “So what do you guys think of the name ‘Shuriken’? You know, Japanese for throwing star? Is that an issue because I’m not Japanese? At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not Japanese...” They leaned forward in unison, squinting. “Sorry, guys, I’m just really awkward in social situations. I’ll shut up now.”

  Chesterton huffed, then turned his attention to the papers on the desk. Zoe looked away from the bemused guards and instead watched the clock; its digits flipped minute by minute until a clear five and a clear zero burned red on the LED clock. Her concentration dialed in and the chatter, the footsteps from above, the sounds of doors opening and closing, all of it drifted into the background. At first, the other officers in the police station showed up, their blips all variations of the same shade of red. Zoe’s body tensed as she tried to push further, farther. The colors amplified, gradually melting into brighter, tangible colors. The effort caused sweat to form on her forehead, something that caught the attention of Chesterton. “You feeling alright?”

  She looked around, unsure if they’d taken Jamie above or below her or if he was close. Each direction proved fruitless, only a cluster of semitransparent outlines. But there, to the left and down, the tiniest flicker of color cut through that.

  And it was waving.

  Zoe took a deep breath, then sank into herself, her mind urging every bit of strength to pull from her muscles into something more ethereal. She locked into the color, marking it in her mind. But it faded, the toll of the past few minutes being too much.

  Overhead, the lights flickered again, this time coming to a blackout that lasted a good five or ten seconds before returning.

  “I don’t like this. Something’s up. Keep an eye on her.” The door swung open and closed as the detective stepped out.

  One less person to deal with.

  The guard who snorted earlier turned, his voice quiet but direct. “No one knows what to do with you. Well, we’ve all seen videos of you. I’m pretty sure I could take you in a fight.”

  “Ha. No way,” another officer said. “She’ll knock you out in two seconds.”

  So these guys were idiots. But it bought her some time. Zoe shut herself off from the heat signatures, closing her eyes and keeping a regular rhythm of steadying inhales and exhales, trying to find that tidy balance between being able to sense Jamie and being powered enough to kick the shit out of anyone who stood in her way.

  Without permanently hurting them, of course. She was in enough trouble as it was.

  “She doesn’t look too tough up close?” Snort Guy asked. “Maybe we should update the office pool? Pretty sure I could take her down.”

  Okay, maybe hurting them a little bit. Because it sure seemed like they deserved it. “I think I got it,” she said loudly at the guards. “The itch. I think I found it. It just needs to stay there. And keep feeling that way.”

  Did that even make sense? Her attempts at coding any communication to Jamie probably came off as gibberish, and maybe it would have been simpler to say “Jamie, stay put but keep feeling extreme emotions.”

  Whatever the case, two more pings tingled the back of her neck
. And as her strength returned, Zoe considered how exactly she would do this, what with armed guards at the door, an entire building she was unfamiliar with and fluctuating powers that drained whenever she used her compass. Plus apparently a department-wide betting pool on fighting someone just like her.

  But the lights went out again, and the instant things blacked out, Zoe told herself to go. She may not have had a much better cover than that.

  Fists tight, her forearms pulled and the handcuffs snapped.

  Guess those cops were about to find out how tough she really was.

  32

  THE LIGHTS WERE OUT for a good four or five seconds. But the locks on the security door still appeared to be fully engaged; Jamie turned the handle but it refused to budge. Probably a combination of mechanical and electronic locks. San Delgado Police Department may have been somewhere lower on the extreme security scale than the most secure prison in the state, but they smartly seemed to have a plan for the Mind Robber if and when they caught him.

  Three security cameras hung in the room, one directly above the door and two on opposite corners. When the power fluctuated, their red lights remained, probably a battery to keep power going even if their monitoring systems in some room somewhere may have rebooted.

  No windows existed in the room, not even a small pane in the door. Chances were the PD didn’t know the extent of Jamie’s powers, that the ability to sense minds had nothing to do with visual connection, though that helped.

  He simply closed his eyes and reached out and there they were. Presences pinged like on a radar, not the thermal outlines that Zoe saw, but more of a weight, a sense of existing within a three-dimensional space. Heat, smell, pitch of voice—it was like those types of senses, except this was internal. Everyone had a signature, some unique identifier that formed ghostlike appearances in his mind’s eye.

  Normally, that kind of stuff didn’t matter. Jamie never planned to visit the witnesses of his robberies again, nor did he care what the OmegaCar drivers did in their off time.