by Paul Tobin
“Why don’t you be a hero? Why this… why do you do these things as Octagon?” I was mentally going through her appearances in my head. I have lists, too. I was remembering that her, her alone, wasn’t ever all that bad. Robberies. Threats. It was the rest of Eleventh Hour that were the bastards.
She said, “I’ve saved the world twice that you know of, three times that you don’t. And as Checkmate I am a hero, but, here’s the thing… the world makes progress in two different, but very connected ways. One way is by raising the top, but you should never raise the top without also raising the bottom. There’s no reason to raise the top if you don’t raise the bottom. Stretch things too thin, and they pop. The world segregates. Divides. Dissolves. We need heroes to raise the top, and villains to raise the bottom. That’s the only way this world can make it. You have to be the top. I’ll be the bottom.” I nodded, solemn, because she was… she was making some sense.
She said, “And all this talk about you being the top and me being the bottom, I’m talking about public perception, here… not sex.” She smiled at this. I smiled back, but she didn’t see me. She was looking to the top of the quarry… was looking to Laura Layton. She wasn’t paying me much attention at all. I could have reached out and done away with Octagon. I no longer had the urge.
I said, “Eleventh Hour.”
Apple looked at me.
I said it again, this time making it a question. “Eleventh Hour?”
“I needed them close so I could study them. I did my best to rein them in. To minimize damage. It was… hard. Too many variables. But… and I hate myself for this… I had to learn each of their powers. The world will need their powers. I needed to know how Tempest controlled the weather. How Firehook spontaneously created fire. I needed them alive to study them. I can forge most of Tempest’s powers, now. Even Macabre’s magics, a little. I can transform the world, as soon as the world is ready for it. It’s too soon, now. But in time, the sacrifice will be worth it.”
“Tell that to all the dead people. The ones killed by Eleventh Hour. Tell that to all the dead people.”
She said, “Don’t for one second think that I don’t…” It came out through her teeth. There was such hurt in her voice. Such unbelievable pain. I’d heard that level of pain only twice, before. One time from Kid Crater, and another time from a man who I’d let slip back down into the lava.
Apple said, “Maybe you don’t want to hear this, but you’re my hero. You’re the only one I can trust with all this. It’s too much burden, for me. Alone. I can’t… I thought I was smart enough to do all this by myself, but I can’t. Being smart doesn’t… I… Reaver. Reaver, I need help. I need help and you’re my hero. You always have been.”
“Me?”
“The world. We’re too young. We’re children. The universe is too large for us to bicker the way we do. Don’t tell anyone else, but Stellar is an alien. She is.”
“Holy shit.”
“Right. Holy shit. Somewhere out there, other worlds. Other civilizations. And we’re down here bitching about gas prices, fighting over scriptures, about skin color, sexual preferences, television shows.”
“Stellar is an alien? Holy shit.”
“You’re the first verified man to make true alien contact,” Apple said. “I’m talking about fucking an alien, here.” She smiled. There was such warmth. I already liked Apple. I was… starting to like Octagon.
“Didn’t go right,” I said.
“Nothing goes right every time. Not even sex.”
“Oh, shit. Sex. Siren. I punched your girlfriend. And, uhh, other things. I’m… sorry I screwed your girlfriend.”
“You mean Siren? Please. She cuckolded me like… like… I don’t even have an analogy. I used to keep stats, for fun. But not even I have that kind of brainpower. Now, if you were to ever try and kiss that girl,” she pointed up to Laura Layton, who was adjusting her glasses, still trying to peer down into the secretive world of the quarry’s void. “If you ever try to kiss her… then I’ll go all Octagon on you.”
“Adele would kill me first.” Apple laughed as I said this. I wondered if the laugh would rise up out of the darkness and reach Greenway’s ears. I doubted it. Apple would have thought of that.
“Anyway,” I added. “Laura’s not my type.”
“Really? She’s… so beautiful. And so much fun. And… oh so damn nasty in bed. How can that not be your type?”
“She’s not Adele.”
We were walking past Laser Beast’s body. It wasn’t pretty. Apple just shrugged. She said, “It was time for Eleventh Hour to go. I have all the data, now. I can replicate most of their powers. It was time to put them down. It’s what I wanted you to do. It’s what I needed you to do. People need to see you being a hero.”
“A couple weeks back, you almost shot me through the head with a laser pistol.”
“A couple weeks back, there was going to be a failure in my pistol, one that would have sent an explosive discharge throughout the whole room, stunning Eleventh Hour, letting you make your escape.”
“I screwed up your plan?”
“You made it better. Accelerated it. I should have thought of Greenway. It has more theater. More drama. I should have thought of all this from the start.” We had walked past Laser Beast, moved past Firehook, and I was looking at Octagon. At the suit, I mean, anyway. I nodded to it. Not wanting to touch it. The suit was still my enemy.
Apple said, “Don’t break it. You wouldn’t believe how expensive it was to make. Also, it has a failsafe if it’s broken. A tiny black hole. It’s there to dispose of my body if I’m ever killed during a fight. To compact my remains to sub-atomic levels. It will just look like I’ve whisked myself away. Forever to be thought of as a Menace that Might Return.”
“Harsh.”
“It’s not a pretty job… this thing we do. But… it’s what the world needs. It’s what I have to do. I can’t stop doing it… but it never stops hurting. It just doesn’t.” She was sniffling, a little. I thought of her words and how similar they were to what Paladin had told me. Pain that never ended. I put my arm around Octagon’s shoulders. She moved closer. It was the same arm that had given Paladin to the lava. Maybe this was retribution. Maybe this was just something that was happening. I didn’t know. I didn’t have any grand scheme, no plan. I was just doing what I felt was needed.
I said, “This… all this that you’re telling me. Before I can decide, I need to know something. Do you love Laura?”
“Huh?” Apple was wiping her eyes on my sleeve. It seemed so very human. I had thought of Stellar as human but had never truly thought of Octagon in that way. Wrong on both counts.
“Laura. Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
I was glad she hadn’t said more. I was glad that she thought adding anything else would have been superfluous. Or even a masking agent. I was glad for a simple truth.
I said, “What happened to Tattoo? You were dating him. He disappeared. What happened to him?”
“Nothing, really. He just retired. I’ve kept his secret. He didn’t like the pressure. Wanted to just… paint. He has a cottage, now. Only a couple hundred miles from where your parents live.”
“You know where my parents live?”
“No. I mean, maybe. I mean… yes. I’m the one that runs security for them.”
“So… you could have gotten to them at any time?”
“Only if I was a total bitch, which I’m not, remember?” I did remember, actually. I’d tensed up a little, but…
… Apple was…
… Apple, I suppose. Not Octagon or Checkmate. And that forced me into some serious decisions. Decisions that a part of my mind was arguing were already made. I’d made them earlier when I was deciding how to fight Octagon. The same logic now applied to not fighting her. Because part of my mind was saying, pointing out once again, that I am a man who can lift thirty thousand pounds. I was focused on that. I was telling myself I needed to focus on how I c
an lift thirty thousand pounds. It would be ridiculous to think that a normal person could out-lift me. Absolutely ridiculous.
I was focusing on that.
I was being smart enough to realize that.
I was being smart enough to realize that it was equally ridiculous for my mind to work at the level of Apple’s. Smart enough to realize that I cannot out-think her.
It just wasn’t possible.
People can readily admit they’re shorter than someone, or maybe not as good-looking, or not as fast, or as strong, or anything excepting being inferior in the category of brainpower.
We always think we’re as smart as the next guy.
But, regardless, I had to do something. It was heroic, though it should be commonplace.
What I had to do was admit I wasn’t as smart as Octagon. Or Checkmate. Or Apple.
I could do that.
I could.
Because I’m not as smart as Checkmate.
But I’m not dumb.
I said, “Now what?”
Apple looked to me. She saw what I wanted her to see. She saw the truth. She saw that Reaver was entering a new phase of his ongoing life. His second team-up with a fellow superhero. My arm around her shoulders turned into a hug, not brief, and I could smell the sweat in her hair. For some reason, that felt important. That felt human. Hell… I even felt human. That felt important, too.
Apple began putting on her suit, again, sliding into another persona, another hero. Becoming Octagon.
She said, “What’s next is you fight me. Fight me every chance you get. Show the world that you Will Not Fall to someone like Octagon. Teach them how to fight. Lead them. Give them an example. Raise them up. Be a hero.”
“I can do that.”
“And marry Adele for fuck’s sake.”
“Jesus.”
“But sleep with her first! Sleep with her a lot! Laura and I were talking with Adele yesterday and she is just so damn horny! Give her something! I mean, pound her!”
“Holy shit.”
“I know, right? But you better get used to me. I’m going to marry Laura, if she’ll have me. And then you and I will be family.”
I said, “Holy fuck,” not for only what she was saying, but for how she was saying it. She was back in the suit. She was Octagon, again, with Octagon’s voice.
Octagon said, “In just a second, I’m going to drop the black field, and they’ll be able to see us. Afterwards, when you’re talking to the media, and you will talk to the media, I’m sure that Frank O’Neill will ask what happened down here in all the blackness.”
“Yeah. He probably will.”
“I want you to tell him that we were in a pocket universe. That we were fighting in a contest of willpower.”
“Okay.” It was her plan. She’s smarter than me. I’d give it a shot.
“Then, when he asks you who won, you look at him and say, ‘I’m alive, aren’t I?’”
“I can do that.” I could do that. And it would be true. I felt alive. Truly alive.
Octagon was rising into the air. The blackness was fading. She said, “And smile for the cameras. You need to smile more! Smile!” I was smiling. I was a hero. For the first time in years I was feeling purely like a hero. I had defeated Eleventh Hour. I had defeated Octagon. I had defeated, at long last, Reaver.
Octagon and I took off our goggles and let them fall to the ground.
The blackness was gone.
We were revealed to the world.
I saw Adele at the same moment she saw me. We made eye contact. She saw how I was still alive. Was crying in relief. Laura was hugging her. I’d see them, quite soon. I’d be with them. Maybe Apple would come over, later.
Octagon, rising into the air, beginning to speed off into the skies, let out a scream that stunned the gathered citizens of Greenway, Oregon. The scream was anguish. It was horror. It was despair. It was defeat. It was damn good acting.
As she vanished, Octagon screamed, “Damn you, Reaver! Damn you! This round goes to you! But I’ll be back! You’ll never beat me! You’ll never stop me! You will never stop me!”
I screamed something heroic in return.
Something impressive.
I did that for the crowd, of course.
Because in my mind I was thinking, “No, Octagon. I won’t stop you.”
I never will.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks are first due to Jack Kirby, who was instrumental in creating the world of comics and superheroes, carrying mythic traditions into a new and vibrantly illustrated age. And of course to all the other comic book creators who toil at their tables... the writers, pencillers, inkers, colorists, letterers, editors and everyone else who brings nobility to life.
And I’m very thankful to my first readers: Colleen Coover, Jeremy Barlow, Graeme McMillan, Josh Williamson, and especially Chris Roberson. You all helped keep my nose to the grindstone. Consider this an IOU certificate for a free drink.
Thanks to Allison Baker, who helped shepherd this project to Night Shade, and thanks to Jeremy and Ross and the rest of the Night Shade crew for giving me a home.
I’d also like to extend my thanks to the staff at Three Friends Coffee House, and the girls and staff at Sassy’s. Thanks for letting me sit quietly in the corners, crafting another world.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Paul Tobin lives in Portland, Oregon, despite not having a single tattoo. He has written the adventures of Spider-Man, Batman, the Hulk, Superman and hundreds of other comic book characters, bringing a sense of realism and character to a genre filled with over-the-top action. He and his wife, artist Colleen Coover, are the creators of two graphic novels, the acclaimed Banana Sunday as well as the recently released and oddly wonderful Gingerbread Girl.
Paul enjoys studying history, burlesque theater, thunderstorms, pretty girls on bicycles, good bagels, evil muffins, and occasionally claims that he would like to punch-fight a mastodon, though those claims have significantly tapered off after he stood next to a life size model at the Natural History Museum in Paris.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
