by Matt Carter
This was a problem that was going to get worse before it got any better if nobody took control of the situation.
With all the commotion, the forest went silent with the sound of screams, followed by a loud gurgling and someone laughing loudly. Everyone ran out of the water line to see what was going on. I cut to the front, grabbing a couple canteens before seeing what had happened.
Everyone stood in a circle around Carnivore, as blood ran down his cheeks and neck. Another boy lay dead in front of him, with a large pool of blood spreading on the ground. His dead eyes stared out blankly into the night.
Iron Bear.
Carnivore had ripped out his throat.
Suddenly, Carnivore’s body went rigid. He let out a high, yipping scream, grabbing at his chest and falling to the ground in a violent seizure.
Blackjack’s voice echoed across loudspeakers on the island, “We told you kids, no killin’. This time, y’all got a warning. Next time, we set the Creepers to kill. Now somebody bury that poor SOB before he stinks up the place and get on with your party. You’ll want this free time while you still got it.”
Carnivore stopped seizing and crawled away, grumbling.
Nobody wanted to touch Iron Bear, but because I’d spent the most time with him, everybody expected me to do something. Sighing, I focused, dragging his body across the ground while still keeping my distance so I wouldn’t have to smell him, or look at all the blood.
Or the guy I thought might’ve been a friend.
Odigjod simply hissed a low, “Oh no.” when I brought the body back by our fire.
The crystal boy took the water from me gratefully, but sadly. “If he hadn’t been getting me food… it’s my fault.”
“Yeah, it is,” I said. Firewall chucked a small piece of metal at the back of my head, shooting me a harsh glare.
Weakly, the boy stood up, transforming one of his arms into a crystalline monstrosity. “I will bury him.”
“Odigjod will help,” Odigjod said.
“We all will,” Showstopper said, standing to join us. Even Firewall set down her work long enough to suit up and join them. Great, now I’ll look like a dick if I don’t help.
Between the five of us and our powers, it didn’t take long to bury him. Showstopper even made a simple cross out of a couple sticks and stuck it in the ground.
“Think he’d have liked that?” he asked.
“I think he’d have liked being alive more,” I said.
“But… never mind,” Showstopper said, turning to Odigjod. “Did he go to hell?”
Odigjod shrugged. “Not my department. Odigjod will looking him up when visiting home next. Maybe put in an good word, if I can, if he’s there.”
“What do we put on the marker? Iron Bear or… what was his real name?” Showstopper asked. Nobody knew. Firewall probably did, but she wasn’t saying.
“Seriously?” Showstopper asked. “None of you even took a second to ask his name?”
“Did you?” I asked.
He grumbled. “That’s not the poin—”
“Supposed to use our codenames,” Odigjod said.
“You don’t,” Showstopper said.
“Don’t have one, yet,” Odigjod said.
“His name was Sacha,” a voice said from behind us.
It was Ghost Girl.
Her eyes glowed vaguely gold behind her mask. “Sacha Sakalauskas. He wasn’t evil, he just worked the black market so he could provide for his sister. She’s been ill for a long time. He hoped he’d make the team so he could provide a better life for her, maybe smuggle her into France. Even though she wouldn’t remember him, he would have done this. He was a good man. He’s sad to have died, he’s sad that he will never see his family again, and to have died without anyone knowing his name.”
Suddenly her name made a lot more sense.
“You see ghosts,” I said.
“I see lots of things,” she said.
It was quiet by our fire as we took in what she said.
Then the crystal boy spoke, “Felix Platero.”
“Nick Nesbit,” Showstopper said.
“Helen Campbell,” Firewall said.
“Emma Hendriks,” Ghost Girl said.
At last, they all looked to me. Sighing, I said, “Aidan Salt. Just don’t go spreading that around too much, ’kay?”
I barely slept that first night, as I was afraid of what was ahead. What if I screwed up? What if I freaked out? What if I failed? That’d all be a one way trip to the Tower.
I couldn’t handle that.
Those thoughts were rough. Almost as rough was realizing just how much I missed.
I missed having a bed that wasn’t rock hard and swarming with mosquitoes and other weird bugs that kept trying to burrow beneath my skin.
I missed technology.
I missed all the familiar sounds of home.
I think I might have even missed my family some, though there’s every chance that was just some side effect of missing home.
I missed having dreams that didn’t include people dying. Since I didn’t sleep much, there weren’t many of them, but the few minutes I caught here and there were full of them. Icicle Man. The people on the boat. Iron Bear. Even the scaleface.
But most of all I missed sleeping in a roomy bedroom, and not having to share it with forty other guys. They were always moving, tossing and turning. Some snored. Some wept softly. Every so often we’d hear something horrible in the jungle and everyone would wake up, cursing.
And the sex…
They started meeting up around one in the morning, when they thought everyone else was asleep. Usually it just meant a girl sneaking in, meeting up with a guy, and them heading out to do their business. Some were less discrete, getting busy on a cot.
Most of them kept it down.
Some didn’t.
So mixed in with all the tossing and turning and snoring and crying you’d occasionally hear the low and not-so-low moans and grunts of people fucking.
I tried to block it out by wrapping my head in my pillow. But it’s easier said than done when there’s a couple screwing right next to you.
“Yeah, tell me how amazing I am!” Artok whispered, his voice still somehow shrill. So, I guess one of the girls bought his shtick.
“You’re all right,” the girl said.
“Just all right?” he asked.
“That remains to be seen,” she said, her accent foreign and sultry.
I could focus, tilt his bed over, and mess things up for him. Atlanteans were supposed to be good fighters, but he seemed weak and there was no way he could take my power.
It’d be easy. Fun. Maybe even help me sleep.
I rolled over, ready to take him down a peg.
Then I saw her.
She was completely naked, straddling the Atlantean’s hips and riding him slowly. Her skin was pale white, practically glowing in the moonlight, offset by a large number of ornate tattoos that covered her back and arms. Long, perfectly straight jet-black hair rolled down her back, with a few odd locks spilling over onto her amazing breasts.
This was the first time I’d seen a naked girl in person.
It looked better than it did on the Internet.
She turned to me. Her face was serene, unlike Artok, who kept grunting and shrilly muttering about how awesome he was. Her lips, painted black, matching her goth goddess look, curled into a confident smile.
Then she winked at me.
She winked at me!
Arching her back and rocking her hips, she gave a hell of a show. Then, before anything could get real good, she stroked a tattoo on her arm. Briefly, it appeared as though all of her tattoos had come to life, dancing about her body before a swirling flock of black birds burst from her arm, surrounding their bed and blocking it from view.
“Show’s over,” some guy with an Irish accent said from across the room. “Time to get some sleep.”
There were scattered mutters of agreement. Not from me, t
hough. She winked at me! Maybe that meant she knew who I was! Maybe that meant I stood a chance! I mean, she was putting out on the first night, so I guess that meant anyone—and by anyone I mean I—had to stand a chance at nailing her too, right?
#Supervillainy101: Locust Lad & Illusor
All the best superheroes had their rogues’ gallery of villains. I’m sure a lot of them would want you to think that they had some major vendettas against these particular heroes, but more often than not it came down to them being unable to afford working any city other than the one their particular hero operated in.
Of all the heroes that operated in the last days of the Silver Age, before the War on Villainy, perhaps the most colorful rogues’ gallery belonged to Locust Lad. Though Denver was not as illustrious a center for superheroism as Los Angeles, New York, or Amber City, it attracted a surprising number of mad scientists specializing in experiments gone awry, giving it one of the highest populations of supervillains per capita in the United States. Though only possessing the powers bestowed upon him by a radioactive grasshopper (or was it a mystical grasshopper totem? He’s never been clear on his origin), Locust Lad fought them all for years, even when his voice started to break and he redubbed himself Locust Man.
The least respected of all his villains was Illusor. An ex-magician, he was utterly pitiful in a fight, instead relying on parlor tricks and flashy illusions to escape. He rarely engaged Locust Lad in direct fights, preferring to distract him to the opposite side of the city from where he plotted his evil schemes, and when he did have to engage the hero, it was with a shotgun.
No weapon themed to his outfit, no witty quips, just a shotgun.
Purist villain fans hate him for having some of the most boring hero-villain fights of the War on Villainy.
I think his record speaks for itself.
Of the forty-two villains usually counted among Locust Lad’s rogue’s gallery, Illusor was the last one captured. He used his tricks and illusions to stay hidden until long after the War on Villainy ended and the Digital Age of Superheroes began, surrendering himself in 2009. Apparently, after a cancer scare, he found God and decided it was the “right thing to do.”
All right, the “Illusor Sucks” crowd does have some points.
#LessonLearned: Sometimes being flashy is better than being dangerous.
#LessonLearned: Also, don’t find God.
6
SHOW AND TELL DAY
Nevermore.
Her name was Nevermore. She was from Paris, France, a Virgo, could make her tattoos become real world objects, was a huge fan of Edgar Allen Poe, and was “a shining blossom of femininity whose petals only needed the slightest of coaxing to bloom.” These were all details I got from Artok on the breakfast line. He said he’d gotten what he needed from her and that I was welcome to her if I wanted.
I did.
Knowing that I did was the easy part.
Knowing what to do next wasn’t.
I’d never been on a date and had never been able to muster the courage to even ask Kelly Shingle out, and she was only the prettiest girl at school.
Out here, surrounded by some of the hottest bad girls in the world, I needed some serious help.
Lacking Vic for advice on such matters, I went to the few people I knew well enough to ask for advice.
Odigjod didn’t know much of human courtship, and I’m still doing my best to forget the nightmarish details he provided on the imp reproductive process.
Felix was gay, so I didn’t think he’d be much help.
I was sure Firewall had experience asking girls out, but for some reason she was offended by my question and threatened to blow me to pieces if I ever asked it again.
Showstopper went into a long-winded speech about how a good sense of humor, listening to girls, and occasionally sacrificing my dignity would help.
So, they weren’t any help. I’d have to improvise.
I’d have to watch, and wait, and plan, and find my moment.
That moment came about an hour later.
It arrived not long after the morning announcement. Blackjack said that our first test would be that afternoon, and they would deliver some more comfortable clothing than our “pitiful attempts at costumes.” We each got a foot locker at the base of our beds stocked with t-shirts, athletic shorts, clean socks and underwear, running shoes, and toiletries (never had I thought I’d be so glad to see a bar of soap). Everything gray and navy blue, hardly stylish, but heaven compared to saltwater-soaked leather.
With some time to kill, I decided to take in the sights of our little shanty town.
There weren’t many.
A lot of people scoured the town ruins, bored, occasionally finding the odd bits of treasure or one of the many skeletons of Professor Death’s minions. Carnivore and his friends found an old death ray in the ruins of a daycare center and spent some time trying to get it working, but were only successful in blowing up a tree and fighting and exchanging various ethnic/sexual slurs with each other. They ended up tossing the ray aside and wandering off.
Since I couldn’t get it to work either, I found Firewall and gave the gun to her. It didn’t completely smooth over my question from that morning, but it did get a rare smile and a “Thanks” from her.
After wandering around the town, I finally found Showstopper, Ghost Girl, and a couple other villains at the edge of the forest, chucking rocks and pieces of rubble at a tree.
“Another one of those killer trees getting close?” I asked.
“Nah, just mangoes this time,” Ghost Girl said, chucking another stone and missing a mango.
“Little help?” Showstopper asked.
Normally, this would have been when I’d have made some excuse and not helped out, mostly because I didn’t want to fail and have them laugh at me. That would have been the case if I didn’t see her sidling on over to our group, curiously looking up at the tree.
Suddenly, my newly gained confidence (thank you, Icicle Man) returned. I’m Apex Strike, the greatest supervillain in the world. I can do anything if I put my mind to it. With a grin, I raised both of my hands, focusing on the hanging fruit. I watched as a heavy limb, covered with ripe, juicy mangoes began to shudder. I had it. I looked back to the others. I looked to Nevermore. I pulled.
I remember a loud snapping sound and some screams.
I remember the world violently tilting on its end before going black.
I vaguely remember hearing the words “Holy shit!,” “Impaled,” and “Should we call Spasm?”
Most of all, I just remember wondering if Nevermore would like to fill her hair with scrambled eggs before or after I gave her a mango.
Serious head injuries can make you wonder things like that.
“Tell me if this hurts.” I recognized his voice. It was the Irish guy who told us all to shut up last night.
“Huh?” I muttered, slowly regaining consciousness.
The searing pain of a lit cigarette being pressed to the inside of my wrist sped that process up considerably.
“FUCK!” I screamed, eyes bolting open to see a grimy, stubbly, dark-skinned young man with wire-rimmed glasses and a faded green army jacket sitting in a chair by my cot. I waved a hand at him, flinging him across the room and into the wall.
He laughed, putting the cigarette back between his lips. “I’ll take it from your response that your answer would be yes?”
“Why did you do that?”
He got up, shrugging and sitting back in his chair. “Why not?”
“Because… fuck! You burned me with a cigarette!”
“That I did. I can also fix that,” he said, pointing at me. I felt a sudden wave of euphoria, and all at once didn’t even notice or care what he’d done.
“This island’s living up to its name quite well. I’ve seen about as many injuries here since last night as I would a good week in Belfast: broken bones, gashes, burns, bug bites like crazy. But you and your infinite stupidity truly took the cake, for t
oday at least. I imagine worse to come, especially if they keep you on.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” I said.
“Nearly killing yourself to impress some girls, even lovely girls, is stupid. You probably woulda died if your associates hadn’t brought you to me. The name’s Long, by the way. Liam Long, though I guess you’re supposed to call me Spasm, and body control’s my specialty. I put your healing response, immune system, and blood production into overdrive and made you good as new. There, pretty as a picture,” he said, waving a hand and sending the euphoria away.
I was suddenly aware of my bloodstained t-shirt full of holes, but that was probably better than having Ghost Girl tell everyone what my last thoughts were while they buried me next to Iron Bear. I doubt I would’ve sounded very good.
“This is… impressive,” I said, looking myself over.
“A ‘thank you’ would have sufficed, but I’ll take the compliment as well. Just remember to put in a good word for your old pal Spasm if the heroes start asking who you are and aren’t fond of,” he said, shaking a cigarette out from his pack and offering one to me. I declined.
I wanted to ask him a thousand questions. How long had I been out? Where was everybody else? Were they laughing at me?
“So… were they impressed?” I asked.
Spasm stared at me as if he suddenly saw worms crawling out of my mouth. Then he walked away, laughing.
“Don’t be late. Our test’s starting soon.”
I found some clean clothes in my foot locker, changed, and ran outside. I was in such a hurry I barely even heard her calling for me.
“That was very foolish what you did, Apex Strike!”
She stood just outside the door to the men’s barracks, tossing a mango back and forth between her hands. Nevermore. She’d tied her gray t-shirt into a knot just below her rack, showing off some of the unsettling tattoos on her stomach. She would have been kind of scary if she didn’t have a mischievous smile.
And, I gotta admit, the French accent did it for me too.
She tossed over the mango. “I had to save this for you, before the rest of the vultures swooped in. What you did may have been foolish, but still deserves its rewards.”
