by Matt Cowper
There were a few gasps, so I raised my hands, trying to appear harmless.
“It’s OK, folks,” I said. “It’s all over. That was just my God Arm getting in its destruction quota.”
“You have redeemed yourself by the slightest degree,” Dak thought-spoke. “The experience of destroying that wall makes my godly realm churn and froth in angry pleasure.”
“Good, then—”
“You saved us!” someone said.
Suddenly a bouncing brunette was in my arms. I felt two very large mounds of flesh pressed against me, and smelled a perfume like tropical flowers mixed with seedy motel-room sex. When the woman released me from her tight hug, I looked her over.
Enormous breasts covered by a dark blue sweater. A skirt that was surely shorter than the First Z City Bank dress code allowed. High heels about two feet tall. A fresh, beaming face with glittering eyes.
Why hadn’t I noticed her before? Here I was going to Miss Pickens’s counter every time I came in, when I could be doing my bank business (and perhaps other business) with this vixen.
“Yes, I saved all of you,” I said in my deepest Hero Voice. “That is, I think I did. No one got hurt in that awesome display of power, did they?”
I looked around the bank for about three seconds, but none of the customers or bank employees seemed hurt. Everyone was slowly getting up from the floor, talking to each other about what happened, or trying futilely to use their cell phones.
OK, everything looked good. Back to Bouncing Brunette.
“That was amazing,” she purred. “How did you do that?”
“Well, like I said, I have a god for an arm,” I replied. “It’s pretty convenient – well, except for the random property damage. And the constant rumbling.”
She blinked at me for at least ten seconds, before repeating, “That is…amazing.”
OK, so not the brightest laser Kaptain Kaleidoscope ever devised. But who cared about intelligence when a girl had breasts like that….
Wind rushed through the bank, scattering papers, causing ties to flutter, and knocking off Chubby Cheek’s hairpiece. Suddenly a man in a bright costume was standing next to me. I looked over and groaned.
It was Light Racer, the speedster of the Elites. He stood there in that irritating Hero Pose of theirs: hands on hips, legs shoulder-width apart, jaw set, posture ramrod straight. Combined with his cheesy blue spandex (complete with white lightning bolts running down the legs) and giant goggles, he looked like a very serious cosplayer.
To me, that is. Bouncing Brunette didn’t think so. She turned towards him so quickly it was a wonder her neck didn’t snap.
“Light Racer!” she squealed. “Wow!”
“Hello ma’am,” Light Racer said. His voice was just as irritating as his Hero Pose. It was like my Hero Voice, only better, because he actually believed that most people were pure – except for the ones who raped, murdered, and tortured – and that he just helped facilitate that purity. He didn’t even look at Bouncing Brunette’s jugs. How stoic and noble could a person be?
Then again, Light Racer was a speedster. I didn’t think he could really race light, but he was plenty fast. He could’ve checked out Bouncing Brunette from every angle as he ran in, and no one would’ve seen him. Shit, he could be running around her right now, licking his lips as he ogled her well-formed buns and copious bust, and all we were seeing was an afterimage of him.
“Are you OK?” Light Racer asked the panting bank teller.
“Oh, yes,” Bouncing Brunette whispered. “I am now.”
Yup, I was toast. Who cared about an unshaven guy in thrift store jeans when Light Racer of the Elites was standing there in all his spandex glory?
“I’m glad to hear it,” Light Racer said nobly.
Blurs and afterimages dashed around Private Headshot and Corporal Rapidfire, and in a split second the ice that was around their hands had turned to a puddle that was soaking into the carpet. I couldn’t see Sergeant Killall, but I assumed Light Racer freed up his hands in a similar way.
“Wow!” Bouncing Brunette gushed. “He, like, turned ice to water.”
I groaned again and rolled my eyes. Light Racer appeared before us and nodded at the woman.
“Yes, I did,” he said, as if it was one of the most profound observations he’d ever heard. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have some words with Mr. Wagner here.”
“Who? Me?” I said, looking around in mock confusion.
“There’s no other John Cassius Wagner in this bank.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “I mean, he might be the John Cassius Wagner you’re looking for.”
I pointed at Chubby Cheeks, who was trying to get his hairpiece back into position. When he noticed we were looking at him, he started waving his hands and blubbering, as if we were going to throw him in MegaMax.
“No, his name is Orville Alan Wooster,” Light Racer responded. “I scanned everyone when I ran in. You are John Cassius Wagner. From my files, I see that you’re a Class D superhuman. You have a ‘God Arm’ that gives you varied, but limited, powers and capabilities.”
“Well, you got me,” I said. “Hard to beat that facial recognition technology you guys have – unless you have the right counter-tech, of course.”
Light Racer’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have access to anything of that nature?”
“Nah, of course not,” I lied, smiling my best Good Citizen smile. “I’ve got nothing to hide. I’m just a normal guy who wants to help out the Elites and every other spandex superteam that puts themselves above ordinary people. You know, because it’s the right thing to do.”
“That’s…good to hear,” Light Racer said, though it was clear his purity was being tested. “Perhaps, then, you can tell me why you attempted to maim these three men, and why you wantonly destroyed bank property.”
“What’re you blabbering about?” I looked down at the unconscious forms of Private Headshot and Corporal Rapidfire. “I don’t see any attempted maiming.”
“The cold you used on them was intense. If I hadn’t freed their arms and accelerated their circulation, they could have become frostbitten.”
“These guys are violent flag-humpers. I had to take ’em down quickly.”
Light Racer threw out his square jaw. “Nevertheless, excessive force is frowned upon in the superhero community.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a superhero,” I replied acidly.
Light Racer’s eyes focused on something being displayed on those goofy goggles of his. I knew he was reading my file again. His eyes darted back and forth, processing information at speeds far beyond what even the quickest speed-reader could accomplish.
“Yes, I see here you’re a private investigator,” he said. “I’m glad you’re using your abilities to aid others in the hunt for truth and justice. Some look down on that profession, but I think it serves a valuable need.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Your approval means so much to me.”
“As I was saying, while you’re not a superhero, per se, you are a superhuman, and that involves certain responsibilities—”
“Can you skip ahead to the end of this lecture?” I said.
“Yes, I will, since you seem so impatient,” Light Racer said. “I’m going to inform local law enforcement of your regrettable actions, and I’ll also inform the Superhuman Ethics Council. They will see if you need counseling – or, if necessary, rehabilitative confinement.”
“Rehabilitative confinement?” I said. “Is that what you apple-polishers are calling it now? A few months ago it was ‘compassion-based lifestyle limitations.’ Whatever you call it, it’s idiotic. I can do without a bunch of paper-pushers wringing their hands over me.”
“The members of the Superhuman Ethics Council are not ‘paper-pushers,’ Mr. Wagner. They are highly trained men and women, most of them with years of legal experience.”
“You have the intellect of a mule,” Dak rumbled. “Be gone, before I drop
you into a volcano.”
“What is that?” Light Racer said. His head darted around so quickly all I saw was a blur atop his shoulders. “Where is that voice coming from?”
“It comes from right here, Racer of Light,” Dak said. “I am Dakroth’gannith’formaz, God of Destruction. I am bonded to John Wagner, in what he calls the ‘God Arm.’ Trifle with me or my host, and you will not survive the hour.”
“Dak!” I exclaimed in think-speak. “Are you insane?! This is Light Racer, for fuck’s sake! He’s a Class S superhuman! If we pick a fight with him, we lose, guaranteed!”
“I don’t like your threats, Dakroth’gannith’formaz, or John Wagner, or whoever’s really in control here,” Light Racer said, looking at my arm. It was pulsing red, brown, and black, like erupting volcanoes. That meant Dak was ready to rumble.
“One moment, Mr. Racer,” I said, with more meekness than I wanted to let slip out. “Let me have a little talk with my friend.”
“Dak! Are you listening?”
“You overestimate this blue fool’s abilities,” Dak responded. “What is a bit of speed next to the inexorable power of the God of Destruction?”
“It’s not a ‘bit of speed.’ This guy could punch us a thousand times in the blink of an eye! We’d be KOed and thrown in a containment cell before you can say ‘spandex wedgie.’”
“The God of Destruction will persevere, containment cell or no. But why do you protest my challenge? You were insulting him greatly, and he’s threatening you with the enforcers of law and some Council of Ethics. I do not like ethics – they are a bane to one such as I. You both sound eager to fight, so let us begin annihilation.”
“I was insulting him because I know he’s a morally upright superhero, pledged to protect the citizenry, to not fire until fired upon! He’ll just stand there and take it, until I actually attack him! Then we’re screwed!”
“How is your ‘little talk’ going, Mr. Wagner?” Light Racer asked. Now his whole body was a blur, not just his head. He was ready to rumble, too. He could’ve ran around the world ten times since Dak and I had been talking, collecting weapons, planning tactics. He could’ve booby-trapped this entire bank – this entire block – to nullify my God Arm.
Not that he needed to do anything that elaborate. A billion punches thrown in two-point-five seconds would be more than enough to take us down.
“It’s going…OK,” I said. “Just gimme a second.”
“I must warn you, Mr. Wagner: I’m not intimidated by gods of any sort. The Elites fight gods all the time, and defeat them soundly.”
“That’s great, I’m really impressed,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Dak! I can feel you gearing up for battle. Stop it!”
“How many times must I tell you, John Wagner? You cannot hold back the primal forces I represent.”
“What’s going on here?” someone barked.
Everyone looked over, and I sighed in relief. I felt Dak’s mood shift; he was intrigued, and wasn’t going to unleash anything until he’d satisfied his curiosity.
My relief was even greater when I saw who was approaching: Officer Vannetti, the policeman who patrolled my neighborhood. He’d been working the streets for years, and was pure cop: all jowls, five o’clock shadow, and belly.
Some people had trickled out of the bank after I kiboshed these wannabe Paul Reveres, and they must’ve created a commotion out on the streets, or called the cops once they got out of the Micro EMP zone.
“Hey, Officer Vannetti,” I said. “How’s it hanging?”
“Long and hairy and hard to carry,” he deadpanned. “You want to tell me what went down here? And you, quit your blurring and vibrating. I ain’t in the mood to deal with any superhero mumbo-jumbo.”
Light Racer’s image slowly came into focus. He was no longer amped up for action – but he didn’t look happy, either.
“Mr. Vannetti—” he began.
“Officer Vannetti,” the cop snapped.
“Officer Vannetti,” Light Racer said slowly, “this man, John Wagner, threatened me, and I was simply readying myself in case he decided to attack me.”
“Uh-huh,” Vannetti said. “Thank God I got here to calm things down. Wouldn’t want you to get into a fight with a guy as powerful as Johnny.”
Light Racer glanced at us both, then continued: “Mr. Wagner stopped these bank robbers using multiple ice blasts as well as physical attacks, which is admirable, but the force he used was unacceptable. The application of extreme cold on normal human beings is not a responsible use of one’s powers – neither is destroying a large portion of a respectable business for a reason I cannot ascertain. Also, his attitude is deplorable. We in the superhero community cannot tolerate such blatant—”
“Well, it’s a good thing Johnny here ain’t a superhero,” Vannetti said.
I smiled at that, but I wondered what he would think if he knew I used to be the Daring Destroyer. After I’d gotten my God Arm, I’d done a brief stint as a superhero; I hadn’t gotten any acclaim, but I had gotten a lot of bruises. Vannetti was a good man, but like most people in Bootheel, he was suspicious of do-gooders in tights – especially do-gooders like the Elites.
The Elites were seen as maintaining the status quo. They just rushed in, pummeled whatever Grave Threat was currently terrorizing the city, and then returned to the Beacon, their floating fortress in the sky. Meanwhile, day-to-day conditions in the aptly-named Bootheel rarely changed. People scrounged through life, living in stamp-sized apartments and trying to ignore the odors drifting from the landfill.
Superhumans like me, though, got some leeway. I lived here in Bootheel, scrounging just like everyone else. I didn’t hide behind a mask (not anymore, at least) and I didn’t hold myself up as some exemplar of justice. Rightly or wrongly, I was seen as “a real guy, not some middle-class approved super-Rotarian,” as someone put it to me once.
Light Racer wrinkled his nose. “You seem very familiar with this man.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve known Johnny for years,” Officer Vannetti responded. “A heckuva lot longer than I’ve known you.”
The cop stared at Light Racer. The speedster stared back. I could almost see a tumbleweed rolling by.
Finally Light Racer looked away. Round one to the cop.
“This Racer of Light is letting an overweight policeman get the better of him,” Dak rumbled. “I do not understand such weakness. If one has power, one should destroy.”
“I told you he was a dyed-in-the-wool superhero,” I thought-spoke back.
“Be that as it may,” Light Racer said, “your familiarity with this man is irrelevant. You will want to investigate this unfortunate occurrence—”
“Oh I will, will I?” Vannetti said. “Ya hear that, Johnny?”
“Sure do,” I replied. “Sounds like Light Racer is telling you how to do your job.”
“I thought so, too,” Vannetti said, “but I was just getting a second opinion. I sometimes misinterpret things, ya know.”
Light Racer held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job.”
“No, no, it’s OK,” Vannetti said. “You Elites know best. We unpowered schlubs just need to do whatever you guys say.”
“I’m not—” Light Racer said.
“No, we’re going to investigate this thing right now,” Vannetti said. “And ya know, I think I’ve figured out how it all went down.”
“You have?” I said, smirking. “Please, enlighten us.”
“Well, it’s clear to me that the guy who froze up these robbers is…you, Light Racer.”
“Me?” Light Racer said. “I was on the other side of the world, fighting the Croatian Cobra.”
“Oh, and we’re just supposed to believe that?” Vannetti said. “You’re one of the fastest men on earth. You can run wherever you want in an instant. Any alibi you present is suspect.”
“It’s true, I am fast,” Light Racer said, “but I’m not
able to freeze people into solid blocks of ice.”
“Well, maybe not with your speed powers,” Vannetti said, “but I’m sure there are plenty of weapons stockpiled up in the Beacon that do exactly that. Why, didn’t you Elites just take down the Antarctic Anarchist about a month ago, and lock his weapons up in that Vault of yours? He had about fifty contraptions that froze stuff.”
“Yes, what you say is technically possible,” Light Racer said, “but you’re still being ridiculous. Everyone in this bank saw Mr. Wagner fight these men.”
“That’s all hearsay,” Vannetti said. “People lie.”
“All of these people would lie?” Light Racer asked.
“Maybe you mind-controlled ’em,” Vannetti said.
“This is…this…look, I would never—”
“—do anything evil?” I said. “Oh sure, we believe you. No superhero has ever been mind-controlled and gone on a rampage.”
“You’re right, Johnny,” Vannetti said. “Such a thing boggles the mind.”
“I have a question for Light Racer, if I may,” I said. “These robbers used a Micro EMP to knock out all electronics in this area. How did you know what was going on here? Or were you just simply passing through – after your battle with the Croatian Cobra, of course.”
Light Racer glared at me. “The Micro EMP did nullify the bank’s alarm system and prevent any other communications or warnings from leaving the building. However, sometimes the absence of a warning can be a warning. When this area went offline, one of Professor Perfection’s Algos noticed the anomaly, and asked me to see if anything was amiss. The robbers undid themselves with their sophisticated technology.”
“Or,” Vannetti said, “you’re the one who set off the Micro EMP to throw everything off-kilter and cover your tracks.”
“Officer Vannetti, please be reasonable,” Light Racer said. “You’re wasting my time with this nonsense.”
“Wasting your time?” Vannetti gasped. “Oh, I’m so, so, so, so sorry. I apologize profusely. I know your time is super-precious, since you’re a superhero and all. I mean, it’s not like you can run all the way to Bangladesh in a nanosecond or anything.”
