The Prospects

by Daniel Halayko

  “This gig may suck, but it’s a job.”

  “’Suck’ doesn’t cover it. We work six days a week until we pass out. I spend most of my time tied up, and Jackie needles me about every little thing I eat or every speck of dirt I drag into the bedroom or whatever. I don’t know how you dealt with this for a year, but six months is way too long for me.”

  “I put up with it because if I lose this job, I’m right back to running from audition to audition and praying for every part out there.”

  “Until you go to LA?”

  “Pete and I are found a cheap apartment. We’ll get grunt jobs with the studios to make some friends. He’s got some great ideas for scripts.”

  “So does every busboy and waiter out there.”

  “Then I’ll keep acting until I get a break. If I don’t … I’ll end up playing Major Disappointment in fifty years and let a bunch of kids beat me with a fruit pie. Damn.”

  “I’m ready to go back to Elmira and tell my parents they were right about me not making it in the big city. If I don’t do it soon, the manager will replace me for someone willing to wear less.”

  “And after that?”

  “I have no idea. What do you do after you fail?”

  “Well, we’re almost in listening range of that other team. Buck up and get in character. Let’s promote our brand, go home, cry ourselves to sleep, and drudge through another day.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Alex felt great the next morning. Physically he was a mess – his arms and legs were covered in bruises and the cut above his eye was so swollen he wished he could still hide behind his Agent Exo helmet – but he was still much happier than he was the previous morning. It only took a few ibuprofen pills to cover the lingering pain.

  The pizza party went great. For a few hours Alex forgot everything he lost. He got in a spirited argument with Goldstreak about whether the Yankees or the Mets better represented baseball, and while he made a better case he couldn’t shake Deon’s devotion to the Mets. He thanked Asura for replacing his smartphone’s destroyed screen with one from his last-generation spare phone. He laughed along with the rest of the team when Zany drank a liter of Sprite and belched the alphabet forwards and backwards. Gale Force hung on his every word when he recounted the most embarrassing moments endured by each team that rejected her. And, on the way back, he made small talk with Trista about how she grew up in South Brooklyn without raising any issues that neither of them could talk about again.

  By the time they returned to Griffin Tower, Alex felt like the Prospects accepted him, and he accepted them. They weren’t bad kids, but they definitely needed help.

  As he lay in his bunk, unable to sleep because he drank too much Pepsi, he thought about their abilities. Soon he had a notepad filled with ideas about how to train them.

  In the early morning, he left a note for each student that said what they were to do or wear when reporting for afternoon training. He also made dozens of phone calls to the various companies owned by Griffin Industries to arrange a large shipment from an upstate farm. He needed to make a trip into the city for the last few items. Alex used this as an excuse to get lunch without seeing the students.

  Jim intercepted him at the tower’s front lobby. “I’m surprised to see you here on a Sunday morning,” said Alex.

  “Harry forwarded some of the e-mails you sent out while enjoying my morning scotch and Vicodin. Are you seriously requesting assistance from the research lab?”

  “If your geeks aren’t working on my exoskeleton anymore, I have a project for them.”

  “Which is?”

  “For one of the Prospects.”

  “And what are these charges from a farm in New Jersey that just went through? What cost four hundred dollars plus four hundred more for emergency shipping that you needed so badly on a Sunday morning?”

  “It’s for our aspiring medic. That reminds me. I bought pizza for the team last night. I’ll fill out an expense report later.”

  “The Prospects have their meals prepaid for in full.”

  “You sent them out on an emergency mission during their dinner hour.”

  “But pizza?”

  “You told me to expense whatever I needed.”

  “That must have been a three-martini lunch day."

  A delivery truck pulled up to the front of Griffin Tower. Alex held the door open as four men brought a huge box into the building.

  “Why are you bringing something that smells like a barnyard into my skyscraper?” asked Jim.

  “Training.” Alex led the men to the service elevator.

  Jim limped after them. “I am genuinely curious where this is going.”

  The men followed Alex to the Prospects’s gym. The young superheroes were assembled in their costumes, except for Trista, who wore a formal dress and a new psychic nullifier.

  “Good morning, team. We’re going to do things differently today. Instead of working with each of you for an hour, I’m going to give each of you a project to do all day. Goldstreak, you’re first. You read up on treating gunshot wounds, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You remember the ABCs of it?”

  “Airway, breathing, circulation, and so on.”

  “And you have your medic kit?”

  Golstreak lifted a dark-red bundle.

  “Good. Think you can treat a bullet wound?”

  “I know all there is to know.”

  “Time for your test.” Alex said to the delivery men, “Open the crate.”

  The men stuck crowbars into the box and pried a side off. It fell, revealing two goats standing in a pile of hay.

  “This just keeps getting weirder,” said Jim.

  Zany squealed. “We have pets!”

  “Goldstreak, pick a goat and name it.”

  Goldstreak pointed to the one on the left. “I have no idea what to name a goat.”

  “Name him Billy,” said Zany.

  “Fine, Billy. Let’s begin.” Alex grabbed the goat by the ear and led it out of the crate. He drew his pistol and shot the goat through the shoulder.

  Billy bleated. Zany shrieked. Gale Force froze. Trista turned away. Asura lowered his goggles.

  “What the hell did you do?” screamed Goldstreak.

  “This is your test,” said Alex. “No goat, no glory.”

  “You shot an animal.”

  “And you said you could treat bullet wounds.”

  Golstreak dashed to the thrashing goat and unrolled his kit. “Airways clear. Breathing, it’s making noise, so it must be breathing. Ow! It kicked me!”

  “It’s in pain,” said Alex.

  “Circulation, control the bleeding.” Goldstreak slapped a bandage over the wound and applied pressure.

  The goat kicked Goldstreak’s bundle. Bandages and alcohol swabs poured out.

  Goldstreak frantically sorted through them. “QuikClot. Where’s the QuikClot?”

  The goat kicked again. Everything in the bundle scattered across the gym floor.

  The reality of the situation sank in among the onlookers. Jim took a deep drink from his hip flask. Trista prayed. Zany screamed. Gale Force said, “I’m going to puke.” Asura said, “Deon, press down on the wound. Harder.”

  Goldsteak yelled, “Shut up!”

  “Don’t yell at them,” said Alex. “If one of them gets shot, there’ll be even more screaming.”

  “The wound is covered, but there’s still blood. Where is it coming from?”

  Bubbles formed in Billy’s mouth.

  “He’s not stabilizing,” said Goldstreak. “What am I doing wrong?”

  “Figure it out,” said Alex. “Mouth-to-mouth could buy you time.”

  Goldstreak wretched. “I’m not giving mouth-to-mouth to a goat.”

  “Forget it,” Alex said. “Test failed. Look at the pupils, Billy is done.”

  “No way.” Goldstreak punched his chest. “Come on, hang in there.”

  “He’s gone, Deon. What were the ABCs
again?”

  “Airways, breathing, circulation, disability … what was E?”

  “Exposure.” Alex grabbed Billy’s back and flipped him over. “You didn’t check for an exit wound. He had a hole in his lung that led to a puddle of blood.”

  The other Prospects covered their eyes. Mister Griffin took another sip from his flask.

  “Did you have to kill an animal?” said Goldstreak.

  “You have to take being a medic seriously. Nothing’s more serious than death.”

  “You’re sick, man. Sarge wasn’t even this sick.”

  Alex turned to the rest of the Prospects. “I first heard about this when in the training program for the exoskeleton. I thought it was sick too, but the guys who went through it were amazing medics. I was so impressed that, after completing the program, I signed on for a course myself. I learned more in that eight-week session than I did in years of classroom training. I also gave mouth-to-mouth to a dying goat, which is the closest I’ve ever come to cheating on my wife.”

  Jim tapped his cane. “Agent O’Farrell here is a fine medic. He saved Stormhead and Arbalest and god knows how many superhero-battle bystanders. If this is how he learned, it’s a good way.”

  “Did you have to let the goat die?” said Zany.

  “I had to show you that we can’t play around anymore,” said Alex. “We need to focus and pay attention to everything we’re doing. One mistake, and one of us could be the next to die.”

  Asura pointed. “Ewww, it’s pooping. I am not cleaning that up.”

  “No, this is Goldstreak’s mess,” said Alex. “He’s going to clean everything and take Billy to the incinerator on the floor below us.”

  “This is wrong,” said Goldstreak. “I mean, this is a trick, right? Fake bullet? Trained goat?”

  “No, you saw something die. That’s why you have to study harder. Go over everything. Practice how to bandage. Tomorrow, it’s Billy Two’s turn.”

  Billy Two bleated.

  “Zany, stay here and warm up for sparring. I’ll work with you today. Everyone else, come with me. I’m bringing in experts to help you with what I can’t.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” asked Jim.

  “It’s your skyscraper,” said Alex as he walked to the elevator.

  “So what’s in store for us?” asked Asura.

  “You’ll find out first.”

  “Please say it doesn’t involve any more farm animals,” said Jenny.

  “Not for you.”

  The elevator stopped in the middle of the building.

  “Hey,” said Asura as they walked down the corridor. “This is the research lab.”

  “You only saw a fraction of it.” Alex opened a door to reveal a room as tall as two floors and as wide as an airplane hangar. Various machines and bits of technology dangled from cranes over the rows of desks along each wall. “The engineers use this part to draft new designs.”

  “It’s weird to see this part of the research lab so quiet,” said Jim. “Usually it’s full of geeks screaming at each other, machines whirring, beeping computers …”

  Asura gasped as he looked to the far wall. “Is that what I think it is?” He slowly stepped towards the huge golden suit with long rockets attached to flowing wings.

  “That’s the last and finest version of the Golden Gryphon battlesuit,” said Jim. “We fixed it up since my last accident. Man, that old hunk of metal brings back memories. Most of the painful.”

  Asura touched the plate glass in front of the suit with religious reverence. “All my life I wanted to see this. I can die happy.”

  “Not yet,” said Alex. “The research team is excited about meeting you tomorrow. They’re going to help you build your own suit.”

  Asura’s eyes got wide. “Oh, no way. For real?”

  Jim said, “And the money for this project will come from …”

  Alex pointed to a table full of various electronic parts. “Your company has written all of this off as scrap. With a little work and customization, I think Vijay can put together a prototype that will make him feel more like a hero.”

  Asura picked up a circuit board. “I mean, this many raw materials, we got to be able to do something.”

  “Take inventory of what’s up here and brainstorm some ideas,” said Alex. “You can meet with the scientists tomorrow to make blueprints. They might be able to use a frame from an Agent Exo prototype. My only requirement is that you only use non-lethal weapons.”

  Jim and Alex walked back to the elevator. Alex took them up ten more floors.

  “This one’s for you, Trista,” said Alex.

  “I hope Harry knows you’re on his floor,” said Jim.

  “We texted. He loved my idea.”

  “You said Harry is nuts.”

  “He is. He’s also the world’s foremost authority on paraneurophysiology.”

  Alex led Trista and Jim to a room filled with a giant tank. Inside was a gray wrinkly mass suspended in gel and connected to thousands of wires.

  “This is Doctor Von Dyme’s latest project, Mecha-Menta,” said Alex. “It’s built to better understand how psychic powers work.”

  Trista peeked into the glass. “Is it alive?”

  “It’s grown from stem cells around circuit boards. He says it can create different types of psionic attacks under computer control. It lacks the sentience to read minds or act on its own, but the physiological processes are similar.”

  “What’s your plan?” asked Jim.

  “My psychic self-defense techniques gave me the edge I needed to beat Lord Mosh last night. Then I remembered how Trista was surprised that psychic self-defense existed.”

  “I read about it when I was in prison,” said Trista, “but I’ve never tried using it.”

  “That’s what we’re going to do. Harry, or Doctor Von Dyme, is going to use Mecha-Menta to help me teach you psychic self-defense. I figure if we do run into the Idea Man again, you’d have a way to resist him.”

  “I’d like that,” said Trista. “Can we start now?”

  “Only Harry knows how to run this thing, and he’s disarming everything in our trophy room. I have someone else for you to meet.”

  Alex took Trista and Jim to a small conference room on the next floor. “I scouted out some potential therapists for you. It’s going to take a while because we need to do thorough background checks.”

  “And lots of psychologists don’t like dealing with psychics,” said Jim. “They’d rather learn how minds work by not breaking into them.”

  Alex opened the door. “Since it’s Sunday, I thought you’d appreciate something religious.”

  The table had a simple cross and two lit candles on it. A wizened man in a policeman’s uniform with a white collar shook Alex’s hand.

  “Chaplain Monaghan, this is Trista. She can’t leave the premises, so I appreciate you coming in to give her a private mass, confession, or whatever she wants.”

  “It’d be my pleasure,” said Chaplain Monaghan.

  Alex saw Trista smile fully for the first time. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’ll text you when we’re done, agent,” said Chaplain Monaghan.

  On the way back to the elevator Jim said, “A few days ago you were so afraid of that girl you almost didn’t take this assignment.”

  “She’s not so bad once you get to know her.”

  “That’s what Lady Amazing said, but Sarge insists she’s an irredeemable sociopath. And he has more experience.”

  “I don’t think she’s bad,” said Gale Force. “She’s never hurt any of us.”

  Alex put a key into the elevator and pressed two buttons at once.

  “Oh, the roof,” Jim said to Gale Force, “You’re going to like this.”

  The elevator opened at the roof of the skyscraper. The sky was gray. Small raindrops made circles in the puddles.

  Alex checked his smartphone. “Where is he?”

  “Be patient,” said Jim. “He likes to make an e
ntrance.”

  The sky above darkened. Lightning shot from rods in the four corners of the building. Gale Force clutched Alex.

  A slender man with long silver hair flew in circles around the building. He came a little closer with each pass until he landed with a graceful run.

  “Oh my god,” said Gale Force. “Is it Stormhead? It’s Stormhead!”

  The usually reserved Gale Force was fawning like a little girl for a pop idol as Stormhead came towards them.

  “Hello,” he said in a thick Norwegian accent. “You are the one I am supposed to train while Mr. Griffin has me on standing guard duty?”

  Gale Force tried to talk but only managed to babble.

  “Sarge told her that blasters are only good for shooting,” said Alex.

  “Why would you take advice from a man who carries a hammer? Everything looks like a nail to him.” Stormhead swung his arms in circles. Arcs of electricity followed his fingertips. “From energy, I can make shields.” He pointed at one of the poles, which began to spark. “Or I can throw my powers for trick shots.” He looked down. “I could also shock that puddle you’re standing in, but you get the point. So, what can you do?”

  Gale Force babbled some more.

  “Does she speak English?”

  “Maybe not as well as you,” said Alex.

  “It is my third language. I’ll let her catch her breath. You can go, Alexander.”

  As Alex and Jim rode down the elevator Alex said, “I still have to work with Zany. That’s just going to be katas and sparring. Do you want to come?”

  “I’ve seen enough,” said Jim. “Make these kids useful as useful as you can. But no more emergency purchases.”

  “If Deon's a slow learner, I'll need more goats.”

  “That part made me want a drink. That and Mecha-Menta. And the city from up high on a rainy day.”

  “I’m going to arrange an intervention for you.”

  “Invite everyone, heroes and villains alike. We’ll make it a crossover event.”

  After hours of practicing punches and blocks, Zany wiped the last of the greasepaint from her sweaty face. The scabs from the Iron Pirate’s spiked boot were almost completely gone.

  “Getting tired, old man?”