“Let’s see how you enjoy being suspended between life and death – festering inside a rusty womb while the man who put you there rules the world beneath you!”
He flicked a switch on the armrest of his throne and a sequence initiated, echoing a countdown around the chamber.
“Launch in T-minus ten seconds... nine... eight... seven...”
It was all over. The fat lady was singing. Hell, she’d done singing and headed backstage to huff truffles.
“...four... three... two...”
Then BAM!—
—Birdy’s cage swung into view, swatting D’eath’s crown clean off and sending it skittering across the throne room’s metal floor. While the Professor was busy grandstanding, Birdy had managed to rock his cage back and forth on the extra chain Acro-Bat had given him, eventually working up enough momentum to knock the Prof upside his head and strip him of his newfound powers.
The cage’s chain snapped, causing it to hit the ground and crack open like an egg, spilling Birdy to the floor. Birdy came up fast while D’eath was still climbing to his feet, popping him in the puss and laying his skinny ass out flat.
“Did you see me?” Birdy shouted, waggling his flesh-and-blood wings, “I was flying!”
“Nuff said!” I yelled in approval.
Birdy set me free from the pod and I slapped the cuffs on Professor D’eath for good.
I grabbed hold of Birdy and the pair of us danced around in a clumsy circle, laughing and cheering, brothers again. I had my twin back and D’eath was defeated, his wicked scheme squashed. Just as well too, no man was meant for that kind of power.
...or were they?
There was that crown just... sitting there. I approached it slowly, taking it in my hands. It felt good. It felt like me. Just the static coming off it made a cloud of orgasms explode in my brain. My pulse began galloping like a set of jumper cables had been clipped to my heart and my blood lit up like a delta of kerosene. I felt like I could knock down the Flatiron with a flick of my wrist. Do the backstroke through an ocean of magma. Rip through solid steel like Kleenex. This was my one chance. My one chance to be a superman again. Better than a superman; a superbman!
I took a seat on the throne.
“What are you doing?” called Birdy, but I ignored him, gently lowering the crown onto my skull.
“Don’t do it!”
It was Doctor Love’s turn this time, awake now and holding out a pleading hand.
“I have to,” I told her. “If I don’t take those powers they’ll be lost forever.”
“Then let them be lost.”
“You don’t get it. It’s going to be a mess down there – people will need a hero.”
“If you go through with this you won’t be a hero, you’ll be as big a villain as Professor D’eath.”
“I’m not the villain, I’m the good guy.”
“No one’s going to see it that way. They’ll call you a hypocrite. A liar. A thief. You think you were alone before? You’ll be more alone than you’ve ever been in your life. Believe me, you won’t stay good for long.”
“But I’ll be Captain Might.”
“Don’t you get it? We don’t need him anymore.”
“What are you saying? Except for me you were Captain Might’s biggest fan. You loved him!”
“No,” she said. “I only loved the man he became.”
And all at once I got it.
August 5th
Two months later
After our battle with Professor D’eath we arrived home to discover that every single Spandex-wearing citizen in the tri-state area had seen their superpowers revoked. There was no reversing the process. The ride was over. Finito. End of the line.
In that sense, you could say our mission had been a bit of a bust. Truth told, I half expected to get back and find a murderous posse waiting to jam their hands into the back of our necks and work an apology out of us, puppet-style. Folks have been pretty chill though, all things considered. That’s not to say the new way of things has been to everyone’s taste. I’ve heard tales of people trying to crowbar their way back into the hero racket with bathtub super serums and “accidental” lab explosions, but no matter how many knots the wannabes tie in their double helixes, no good’s come of it yet.
For the most part, people came to accept the new order. After all, being a normal didn’t carry the stigma it used to. Former superheroes tossed their capes aside like childhood comfort blankets. Villains surrendered their hoods in special drop boxes dotted around the city. ‘Super’ became a word for describing something outstanding, or the especially rich, or a trip to Fire Island.
And that was fine. Things couldn’t have carried on the way they were headed anyway. It was getting tiring having so many superhumans around. Having to test athletes for gene tweaking on top of steroids. Having to check for artificially enhanced brainwaves in line with sky-high exam scores. The sky had gotten so thick with capes that we needed intercity air traffic control to stop folks winding up mashed together like people Play-Doh.
New York’s superhuman population had hit saturation point – it would have been ten years, maybe twenty, before every man Jack in the City was superpowered, and then what? Wall-crawling window cleaners? Gynaecologists eyeballing women’s ovaries with their X-ray vision? Telepathic sales assistants who knew for a fact you’d tried on those undies you were trying to return?
Much as I hate to admit it, D’eath’s meddling ended up being an intervention in a lot of ways. Life was getting cranked too high and the time was right to take it down a notch. You ask me, it feels good to be one again. No supes, no normals, just people. Maybe now we’ll remember what made us special before Captain Might came along. Because greatness – true greatness – isn’t a star-spangled cape or a set of diamond-hard abs. Greatness is Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel or the works of Shakespeare or 24 Hour Bagels. Just think of all the incredible things we did already without superpowers – splitting atoms, building robots smaller than dust mites, watching complete strangers insert objects into themselves across the other side of the planet. We were already super, we just needed reminding of the fact.
As for me, I used to think being a supe was the be all and end all, but I’ve come to realize that power isn’t everything. There’s power in the NY grid but I wouldn’t recommend sticking your finger in a wall socket. When all’s said and done, power is emptiness. Numbness. It’s not being alive, because being alive comes with risk and pain and real joy. I have that now, down on the ground, the same place I started out in this world. And now I’m here, people get me for who I am, not what I am. Would I come first in a foot race against Doubletime or win an arm wrestle with The Inevitable Bulk? Who cares, I’m not that guy anymore – I’m more than a jumble of superpowers in an indestructible wrapping – I’m a human being.[126]
Losing my powers turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. My feet might stay fixed to the floor now but that doesn’t mean I’m not floating. I can’t look through walls, but I see things clearer than I ever did before. I can’t fly at the speed of light anymore, but I’m traveling at the speed of life. At long last I’m in synch with the world. Living in the moment. The man of tomorrow, at one with the present.
As I write this closing paragraph I sit basking in the sunshine of the Gerry the Janitor Memorial Park.[127] The last of the Mandroid concentration camp lays dismantled around me and I look up to the sky and see nothing, or at least nobody. It’s weird, the air being clean of capes, but I take comfort knowing I can leave my apartment without some flyby taking a bathroom break on my head. Only clouds in the sky now. Clouds drifting away like the thought balloons of a comic strip that ran out of words.
Where are they now?
Doctor Love became a specialist in the psychiatric treatment of former supervillains. Working for the New York Department of Corrections, she has been responsible for the successful rehabilitation of hundreds of former masked criminals. Her most famous pati
ent to date is one Professor D’eath, former enemy of Captain Might, who is considered to be some way from rehabilitation after attempting to bite off the nose of his nemesis during a villain-to-hero counselling session.
Birdy finally ditched his “sidekick” reputation, receiving universal recognition for his role in the defeat of Professor D’eath – an event he is currently documenting in his memoirs, ‘A Birdy’s Eye View.’ In time, Birdy struck up a relationship with another hero of the aforementioned defeat, Miss Transit, who, much to the delight of his mother, was invited to the following Thanksgiving dinner. Birdy never wore a man hammock again.
The Murder Circus were lauded for their services to humanity and exonerated of all past crimes. They later changed their name to the ‘Cirque du Melee’ and founded a circus school that taught traditional three-ring skills alongside hand-to-hand combat. Their ringleader, Acro-Bat, has since become the star of a popular TV show about a trapeze artist who solves crimes with his fists.
Dr Rune was re-united with his upper half and his widow was finally able to lay his memory to rest. Rune’s crown – an indestructible artefact of incomprehensible power – was transported to a closely guarded location that won’t be divulged in what will no doubt prove a best-selling series of books that spark a Hollywood bidding war culminating in a beloved motion picture franchise.
Rex Kettner pulled C.H.O.M.P from the network schedules the day New York was liberated. Having played up his part in Professor D’eath’s defeat, Kettner used the resulting boost in popularity to parley into a successful career in politics. Kettner has since moved his bullseye from superheroes to corrupt city officials. And the gays.
Mister Normal lives on as a symbol of inner strength against impossible adversity, if only in spirit. A whole industry sprang up to feed the public’s hunger for Mister Normal merchandise, which included a popular line of action figures. The Mister Normal toys were a far cry from the Captain Might models. Instead of ‘Super Speed’ and ‘Heat Vision’ types, there were ‘Best Prepared’ and ‘Brain Wave’ models; the latter including a button on its back that made it strike the classic thinker pose. There was even a scuba model you could wind up to make it swim with flippers. It didn’t exactly fit the character, but it was some serious bath-time fun.
Captain Might retired from safeguarding humanity to concentrate on fighting crime at a local level. Having helped re-instate the long-dismantled institution of the NYC Police Force, the Cap rose quickly through the ranks to a position that actually entitled him to the ‘Captain’ part of his name. His superhero chest insignia was retired and replaced by a different kind of badge – the type his father once wore – and having earned a clip-on tie and a nameplate on a door, the Captain finally earned respect of his mother.
Captain Might demonstrated a newfound humility by withdrawing from his own fan club and stepping down as his number one admirer. Consequently that honor was passed to Doctor Love, who further proved her fandom by accepting a diamond engagement ring that the Captain absolutely guaranteed was not hand-crushed. Soon after their marriage, Unmasked magazine reported that Doctor Love had given birth to a beautiful bouncing boy. The Captain was quoted as saying of his son, “Looks like I finally got my sidekick.”[128]
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Dedications
To Jesus Christ, the only real superhero.
Psyche.
Genuine thanks go to my wife, Adriana, for living letting me have my own room full of comic books.
To Mum and Dad, for letting me store the comic books that won’t fit in that room in their loft.
To my intrepid readers, Dave Stewart, Matthew Stott, David Lemon, Gillian Fox, Christian Steinbacher, Victoria Hogg, James Kennett, Chris Clark, Mabel Slattery and Alex Musson. Some of you read a lot of words, some of you only read some, but all of you read a pile of substandard dreck. Thanks for helping me make the book what it is. A pile of standard dreck.
And finally to you, the person reading these words. You’re the reason I get up in the morning. You and my bladder.
* * *
[1] Excelsior! iPad users, to return to your page, use the Back button, bottom left.
[2] It should go without saying that a publisher paid me a heap of money to write this journal. What, you think I pecked out all these words for the hell of it? I’m the guy that yelled “Suck my slipstream!” and threaded the Lincoln Tunnel at Mach 20. Does that sound like the behaviour of a man of letters to you?
[3] Possibly the most American thing to have ever happened.
[4] Close shave. Use the ‘S’ word around Birdy and he’ll come at you with every single one of those 125.
[5] Sky signals were C.H.A.M.P’s preferred method of emergency alert. Our tech team was forever trying to convince me to upgrade to a 9-11 number, but there was something about a spotlight beaming onto a cloud that really buttered my bread.
[6] Normals: civilians; regular folk; the clock-punchers; you.
[7] Satire.
[8] The Government eventually amended the Heroes Code to include an item that forbade me from acting like a one man De Beers: ‘Principle Eight, Article 4b: No generating excess income by hand-crushing raw carbon into precious gemstones, Captain Might.’
[9] I used to defend the scale of the statue by saying it was an artistic statement reflecting my stature as a larger-than-life public figure, but really it was an excuse to shame anyone without their own gigantic effigy. The lobby was just for starters too, I had plans to requisition a statue for the roof of the building that would have made the Rio Jesus look like Gnat-Man’s dick.
[10] Lady Die, Mother Load, The Cougar, Executie, and Vaginamite to name but a few. Never let it be said that I had a heroine problem.
[11] This wasn’t the first time C.H.A.M.P had needed to lawyer up. A few years previous we’d dealt with a rash of ‘damselling,’ which was the name I gave to a trend for unscrupulous women putting out fake distress calls, waiting for one of our solo patrols to show up, then faking sexual misconduct so they could seize on a quick buck. It got to the point that we had to start taking precautions, which included issuing potential rescuees with a contract to sign. The large print stated the following:
‘This disclaimer indemnifies me [name of superhero] of any sexual liability, and by signing it, I [name of the imperilled], state in no uncertain terms that my salvation is 100% consensual.’
[12] Technically, half piranha.
[13] NYC wasn’t the only place to boast a superpowered Captain. Once I set the trend over here Captains started popping up all over the place. What a bunch of rip-offs – I swear you could have stuck voodoo pins in them and I’d have felt it. There was a Captain California, a Captain Blighty, a Captain Micronesia, a Captain Republic of the Congo, even a Captain Canada. A few of them had chops but most were good as useless. I mean, what’s Captain Canada protecting his people from exactly? Free health care? Good manners?
[14] I’m pretty sure she meant “stranger.” Mom’s English has never been her strong suit. I’m telling you, the woman is aggressively foreign. She has a way of riding roughshod over the English language that’s sometimes hilarious but often plain tragic. A good example would be the time she picked me up from kindergarten saying “I have surprise for you.” The whole ride home my brain was fizzing. Was it that race car bed I’d been bugging her for? An Atari console like the one Cousin Gary had been lording over us? Was I going to space camp? Well, no, because it turned out… my dog was dead. Oh sure, it was a ‘surprise,’ but I can’t help feeling there was a better way of phrasing it.
[15] A common consequence of treating yourself like a lab beagle and exposing your body to powerful doses of radiation is ending life on a cancer ward – something too few supervillains consider when they s
tart out their careers. Visiting the hospices of former enemies to say goodbye was a workaday duty of mine. I can’t tell you the amount of clumsy ‘chin-up’ small talks I’ve given over the years, let alone the number of last wish requests I’ve fulfilled. “Be a sport and let me blast you with my thermal bazooka one last time, huh, Cap? For old time’s sake?” Every time a tear to my eye.
[16] A biz term meaning ‘Be On the Look Out.’ ‘Biz’ stands for ‘Business.’ Stop me if I’m going too fast for you.
[17] Celebrities and capes rubbing shoulders was a pretty commonplace occurrence. This sometimes led to celebrities convincing themselves they were made of superhuman material, which resulted in them attempting to hoard in on the hero racket. Point of fact, Tom Cruise once attempted to buy his way into C.H.A.M.P saying he could “Run real fast” and was “Audited Level OT VII” with some pay-as-you-go religion. I regret to say his bid proved to be... a Mission Impossible (see, this is why I leave the wisecracks to Birdy). Steven Seagal was a hard pass too – I can’t say we were in a big rush to deputize a guy who employs a fighting style that makes him look like Oliver Hardy playing patty cake.
Normalized (The Complete Quartet) Page 22
