The Prospects

by Daniel Halayko

  “You’re real young,” said Alex. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

  “I graduated valedictorian.”

  Alex forced her arms together behind her back. “I’m sure your parents are proud.”

  “My turn to ask a question. You ever shoot a girl in the back before?”

  Mind Dame whipped her head around.

  In all of Alex’s years as an agent, no one ever did that before. He didn’t pull the trigger.

  Once again, they made eye contact. Alex envisioned the mandala again. The colors separated themselves into distinct shapes, each made with grains of sand. The lines blurred and twisted and swirled. The shapes spread and shrank. He couldn’t control the picture.

  This time the cold tingling sensation felt like frozen icepicks digging into his brain.

  Alex sat back against his will. Mind Dame slid out from under him and stood. “Your little pictures may have slowed me down, but my mind is linked to the Idea Man’s. I can draw from his power to break you.”

  Alex slapped the handcuffs closed around his own wrists. He wanted to curse but his teeth wouldn’t unclench.

  “Kneel.”

  Alex fell to his knees. He couldn’t make himself stand.

  Mind Dame swung her hips as she stepped towards him. She turned around, lifted her cape, and thrust her fishnet-covered buttocks into his face.

  “Kiss my ass.”

  Alex fought to keep his lips from puckering and his neck from craning forward to make contact. He failed.

  “Again.”

  He failed to stop himself again. He couldn’t even close his eyes when he did it.

  Mind Dame giggled. “Oh, the things I could make you do if time wasn’t important, but it is. Heel, boy. Bring your helmet.”

  With his pistol still in a cuffed hand, Alex picked up his helmet. He followed Mind Dame as dozens of police officers and security personnel came into the room. Each carried a large brick of explosives.

  “See these hard-working innocent people? They’re going to pretend they’re unconscious with the packages underneath them.” She pointed to a detonator button taped to her wrist. “When the other MAB agents and superheroes pour in, boom. They will die because you couldn’t stop me.”

  Alex strained to force out the word, “Why?”

  “If you were brighter, you’d understand how stifling it is to be surrounded by dull people. That’s going to end tonight.” She rubbed her chin. “I have the hero at my mercy, so social convention dictates this is when I tell you the plan, right?”

  Mind Dame moved a finger back and forth, Alex nodded involuntarily in rhythm with it.

  “It’s not like you can stop me. You see, the Idea Man took control of the top para-physical experts in the world and a few engineers. They built a machine called the neurotransmitter. It can take the mental power from the rest of the Ultra-Geniuses to create a psychic shockwave that will spread around the world.”

  As they walked Mind Dame said, “Let me put that in words simple enough for a goon like you to understand. The dark age of the dull-minded ends tonight. We will force this world to accept the Idea Man’s brilliance. His vision will lead us to an enlightened future. Idiots like you will use whatever limited talents you have to serve us.

  “Well, not all. Many weak people will die when the psychic shockwave overtakes them. Babies, like your newborn son, won’t have a chance.”

  Alex desperately tried to conjure the image of the destroyed mandala. It remained beyond his memory’s reach. He thought about what Mind Dame said about babies dying and how his wife was giving birth at that moment.

  This wasn’t the first battle where the supervillains got the upper hand. Alex had to wait for Mind Dame’s control to slip or a teammate to rescue him. All he had to do was stay alive. The villain would make a mistake or he’d get a lucky break or someone would save him. That always happened before.

  When they were in front of the elevators Mind Dame said, “Turn on the radio and tell them the floor is clear.”

  Alex’s eyes trembled as his hands raised the helmet microphone to his lips and pressed the transmit button. He never wanted to do anything less. “Floor clear.”

  “Roger,” the radio responded. “Team Xavier is moving in.”

  Mind Dame said, “Don’t worry, you won’t live with the guilt, because you’re going to kill yourself.”

  Alex involuntarily dug the pistol into his temple. His brain fruitlessly sent signals to lower it or at least take his finger from the trigger.

  “Wait, this feels cruel.” Mind Dame locked eyes with him. “Let me make you want to die.”

  Every painful memory Alex had assaulted him simultaneously. He remembered being bullied by older kids on the school bus who called him “Loser Lexy,” his mother slapping him for lying, an ex-girlfriend who cheated on him with his then-best friend, and getting mugged while drunk on Saint Patrick’s Day after his college friends ditched him. He relived being shouted out by Sergeant Hammer in front of all of the other trainees while training to become Agent Exo. He experienced every defeat he had as Agent Exo again, including the sensation of a civilian caught in a crossfire dying in his arms.

  His finger tightened against the trigger.

  Under his exoskeleton, near his heart, his smartphone vibrated. Someone was texting him. It had to be Emily. He thought of his family, of Emily, dear Emily, who was having his son at that moment. If he lost, she’d be a widow and he’d be fatherless.

  That gave him the willpower to resist.

  His finger loosened.

  Ice-cold stabbing pains shot through his head. He felt Mind Dame going through his thoughts.

  She pursed her lips. “They’re better off without you.”

  The fights and arguments he had with Emily surged through his mind. He was a bad husband to Emily. She could’ve done better.

  The insecurities hidden in the back of his mind told him he’d be a horrible father. He wouldn’t be there for his son. He wouldn’t be able to relate to him. He’d find a way to make his son hate him. He’d fail at fatherhood the way he failed at everything else.

  His finger tightened against the trigger.

  Everything went white.

  Chapter Two

  Alex O’Farrell gazed at the framed newspaper front pages and magazines that covered the wall.

  The earliest ones went back to 1941 with boxy headlines that read “US Develops Supersoldier” and “Sergeant Hammer Smashes Japs!” on yellowed paper. Next to it was a framed copy of Sergeant Hammer Comics #1. It featured the huge man in a cross between a green armored bodysuit and army fatigues crushing a giant swastika above the words: “Bringing The Hammer Down For A Better World!”

  In the next column was a cover of the May 1972 issue of TIME with the caption “The Flightsuit Has Arrived” under a picture of the Golden Gryphon. To the right was “Golden Gryphon #1,” the second most valuable comic book after Sergeant Hammer’s. Below was a New York Times front page with “Heroes Unite in NYC With Government Blessing” from 1976 and a framed first issue of “New York Guardians” with “The World’s Greatest Heroes in the World’s Greatest City” almost popping off the cover with bright colors.

  Alex skimmed through the comics and news stories of the 80’s. That was when the prose about superheroes was glowing and the comics were vivid. There was almost nothing on the wall from the 90’s, when the public’s love affair with superheroes ended abruptly. No framed magazines recounted how the Desert Dukes held the whole city of Albuquerque hostage rather than surrender one of their members to the local police after he brutally murdered his wife. There was also no articles about how Steelworker wrecked downtown Pittsburgh after a nervous breakdown.

  Alex didn’t have to see those articles. He knew how many metahumans and ultra-athletes, the non-powered people who could stand toe-to-toe with these anomalies of science, went rogue or were revealed as frauds or even greater menaces to their home cities than the villains they fought. The public dem
anded these vigilantes and self-proclaimed saviors be held accountable for their actions.

  But simply outlawing superheroes wasn’t a popular option either. Self-proclaimed villains, super-criminals, alien invaders, and other monsters didn’t care what the laws said. Someone had to hold them back to maintain the status quo.

  Every country handled this problem in its own way. Many nations passed strict laws restricting where metahumans on either side of the law could or could not go. Some required conscription for mutants, which gave them a superpowered battalion for national defense. A few politically turbulent nations saw metahumans set themselves up as dictators with regimes that lasted for as long as it took for other metahumans to come together and overthrow them.

  In the United States, the solution was an agency dedicated to overseeing and regulating the heroes. The federal government required costumed vigilantes to obtain legal recognition or join a team under the oversight of a MAB agent before they saved anyone's day. The superheroes themselves maintained autonomy over their careers, but they were responsible for all consequences of their actions.

  It wasn’t popular at first. Some iconic characters who valued independence and anonymity fought their government-supporting former comrades. After a few battles they were quickly arrested, deported, crippled, or killed.

  The drop in accidental damage, false arrests, and civilian casualties from vigilantes who hid behind masks over the following years made most people realize that regulation was, overall, a good thing. Citizens had someone to complain to if superheroes damaged their property or violated their civil rights in their personal pursuits of justice. Law-abiding superheroes, in turn, had agents who served as liaisons between them and local law enforcement. That made them more efficient as crime fighters.

  Alex scanned the periodicals from the last five years. There, on the cover of the New York Daily Post, was the public’s first view of Agent Exo, a MAB agent who became superhero in his own right. Under the headline “Exo-lent!” was a man in a blue and silver armored exoskeleton with his face concealed by the glare against the opaque visor. Next to it was a New York Times headline from two years ago, “Agent Exo Singlehandedly Subdues Bone Terror,” followed by an account of how he arrested a rampaging muscle-bound monster covered in bone spikes.

  He remembered the smell of the new exoskeleton, the musty hint of Kevlar with the tang of titanium. He couldn’t forget how much it felt like a dream to leap 20 feet vertically and land with retro rockets in the heels to cushion the landing. He could handle any situation, no matter how dangerous, in that exoskeleton. Sure, there were losses and many close calls, but with the help of the other New York Guardians he always survived the encounters with crime lords, insane metahumans, aliens, monsters, and other dangers facing the world.

  He also remembered Emily’s excitement when he told her he was chosen to be the one Metahuman Affairs Bureau agent out of a hundred chosen to wear the exoskeleton. It’s not everyone who dreams of becoming a superhero that can finally become one, and far fewer who feel the embrace from a loved one when they actually do it. It was, beyond a doubt, the greatest day of Alex’s life.

  But that was four years ago. Now the exoskeleton was useless, and he couldn’t talk to Emily.

  Alex looked past the headline “New York Guardians Beat Ultra-Geinuses At Empire State Building” from two years ago to dodge the painful memories of that night. He skipped past another one that read “Fallen Heroine: Scintilla Sacrifices Self To Save World” from last year. It was too soon to remember how he lost his friend in battle.

  He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the past anymore.

  The office door opened.

  “Like the wall of fame?” Jim Griffin pointed his cane at the magazine covers and articles. “I’m going to miss print journalism. You just can’t frame a webpage.” He limped to the minibar. “What’ll you have?”

  “It’s ten a.m. Seems too early to drink.”

  Jim poured scotch into a glass, put a handful of Vicodin pills in his mouth, and emptied the class with one gulp. “Look who’s so concerned about appearances. What’s with the hooded sweatshirt and jeans? You’re in the penthouse office of Griffin Tower with the CEO of Griffin Industries and current leader of the New York Guardians, and you can’t put on a tie?”

  “Actually, I …”

  “Just busting your chops, ol’ buddy. I saw you in less when we were fitting that powered exoskeleton.”

  “Since you brought up the exoskeleton …”

  “Nothing new to say.”

  “It’s still not fixed?”

  “You should’ve taken that drink. Back when my engineers built the first Golden Gryphon battlesuit, machines were machines. You put this capacitor here, flip that switch there, oil it up, and, bang, you’re jetting around the city, shooting lasers at bad guys until the batteries run out. But that was forty years ago. Now it’s all software.”

  “And software’s not your company’s thing.”

  “If it was, I’d have Bill Gates working for me. Instead, I have my top nerds analyzing the hell out of the virus that bricked your exoskeleton.”

  Alex sighed. “Any idea how long it’ll be?”

  “No. That virus you picked up rewrote the operating system.” Jim poured more scotch. “My nerds can’t boot it up without triggering the self-destruct sequence. And they’re afraid if they hook it up to the servers for a hard reboot the virus will spread.”

  “So it’s useless?”

  “We’ll try to fix it, and if we can’t, we’ll put the alloyed plates on a new computerized system. You’ll be fighting crime again in a few months at the longest. Until then, you’re still on the government payroll as a MAB agent. Take a vacation with your family.”

  “That’s the other reason I’m here.” Alex fiddled with his wedding ring. “Emily and I got in a fight last night.”

  “Couples fight.”

  “No, this was a big fight. I … need a place to stay for a while.”

  “She kicked you out?”

  “We need some time apart.”

  “Didn’t you just have a kid?”

  “Calvin’s almost two. And Emily’s right, I barely know him. The day he was born, we were out fighting the Ultra-Geniuses.”

  “Worst night ever for you.”

  Alex never forgot how powerless he felt with his own pistol against his temple and his finger against the trigger with his mind filled with insecurity and doubt. Those lingered in his head when he woke up in a hospital bed with no idea how he got there or why there wasn’t a hole in his head.

  “It took me a month to recover from Mind Dame’s psychic attack.”

  Alex almost said how he planned to quit being Agent Exo before Mind Dame made him suicidal. The therapists who treated him emphasized his personal identity as a hero to pull Alex through his depression. They made him see himself as a man who had control of himself and his fate by reminding him of his accomplishments as Agent Exo.

  He never mentioned the promise he made to Emily again. She didn’t mention it either. But she also seemed to bite her tongue harder and harder every time he put on the exoskeleton to charge into danger.

  “I missed Calvin’s last birthday to raid Le Parrain’s metahuman organ harvesting operation. And Emily’s birthday because of that deep-sea rescue mission. And our anniversary when the Iron Pirates took over that orbiting nuclear missile platform.”

  “She understands you were only saving the whole goddamn world, right?”

  “I told her everything I did was for her. She said she wanted a husband, not a superhero. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

  “My four ex-wives never came around. Want my divorce lawyer’s number?”

  “Usually when we fight, I go off to battle villains somewhere. I come back calm and she’s cooled off.”

  “No fighting for you until we get the exoskeleton fixed.”

  “I don’t want to sit around. I have to do something or I’ll go crazy.”


  “I don’t know what to say. You’re not a metahuman like Stormhead, so you can’t fly around and shoot lightning. Lady Amazing caught that benign alien virus that makes her almost invincible. You aren’t the result of a super-solder project like Sargent Hammer. He’s almost a hundred but can benchpress a Buick and has perfect teeth. We could ask Professor Photon to inject you with some molecule-compressing nanobots …”

  “No. Harry’s brilliant but insane. I can’t trust the guy after his Micro-Sapiens debacle. I mean, he made something that made an army of killer robots.”

  “Well, the nanobot infusion worked for Scintilla, may she rest in peace, and may Harry stop vetoing every potential replacement for her.”

  “Sad about that. Scintilla, or Mindy, was terrific.”

  “She sure made it easier to put up with our resident mad scientist. Harry never leaves the tower anymore.”

  “But Arbalest doesn’t have any powers, and …”

  “Your Metahuman Affairs Bureau training doesn’t put you on par with an ultra-athlete like him. He’s trained his whole life and has more talent than any given Olympic gold-medalist.”

  “But I can …”

  “No you can’t. I’m sympathetic, I was the original guy in a suit, so I know that without one we’re just guys.”

  “There’s no non-superhero work I can do?”

  “Call the MAB. Even though we made you a member of the New York Guardians, you’re still officially their agent. They may have busywork.”

  “They want me to remain as a liaison with a legally recognized team to be sure no one is abusing their powers.”

  “You know we’re as clean as a whistle. Maybe you could help some of our affiliates investigate crimes somewhere else. Somewhere warm so you can dodge a New York winter. How about the Los Angeles Champions? Or the Miami Magics?”

  “Going to another city would kill my chances of patching things up with Emily. I’m not ready to do that yet.”

  Jim’s smartphone flashed a red screen. “The emergency signal always goes off at the worst time.” He picked it up. “What? So? Sarge should be … they’re fighting Sarge? I’ll be right down.” He hung up. “You want to keep busy, come with me.” He limped out of the office. “You heard about Lady Amazing’s pet project, right?”