by Ben Mason
His eyes darted back and forth, searching for any traps or markers. None showed up. It didn’t appear there ever had been any either.
Reaching the basket, Christoph stepped inside.
Inside he saw a glowing light from a rectangular green crystal floating in the middle of the room. Next to it was a workbench with some rusted cogs and wires, along with a rack of five vials all stopped up with the same brownish liquid inside.
And suspended above the crystal, wrapped in bands of metal, was Avros. His wings were wilted, his skin clinging to the bone, and his eyes staring out at Christoph. His face twisted into a rictus grin.
“Hello, Gravitas. What brings you here?”
Christoph’s mouth went dry. “I was told you were dead.”
“In a sense,” the man said, laughing, coughing. “You got past the birds. Heck, I’m impressed you even found the place. Come to save me?” he said, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice.
“I was hoping to use some of your serum. I suppose this is it,” he said, gesturing to the workbench.
Avros gave a nod of his head. The act appeared to tire him. His body sagged against the rings, and they seemed to pull him in tighter. “Go. Take them. It’s not like I’ll be using them.”
Christoph put them one by one in the right pocket of his vest, feeling Avros’s eyes on him.
“He’s alive,” he whispered, hoping the man behind him didn’t hear.
Nothing came over the airwaves but static.
“If you’re waiting for your friend, I’m afraid he isn’t going to be able to talk to you in here. Not with my little friend getting in the way.”
Turning around Christoph saw Avros point his beak of a nose at the glowing crystal. “I want you to take it,” he said. “Whoever is stupid enough to want it deserves whatever it gives them.”
“What is it?” Christoph said, moving forward. The air around him crackled with energy. Unlike the power of the gravity well, he felt it sickening him. If not in body, then in mind. He wanted to lash out, crushing anything trapped in their cage. He shook the thought out of his head.
“That would be tell—ing,” Avros said in a sing-song voice. “And I like to keep people guessing.”
Christoph tried to clear his mind. What had Avros looked like before? Nothing like the mummy hanging in front of him. Nearing the crystal, he held his hand out, feeling a surprising spike of ripples run across his palm. So cold they were hot.
“Poor Gravitas. The years haven’t been kind to you. Hope you get your revenge. And that your date with Shield Maiden goes well.”
Avros broke out into a sharp grin. “To be a fly on that wall.” He tried to let out a whistle, which became a low, guttural cough.
Christoph felt his cheeks burn, and in one swift movement he snatched the crystal from where it was floating.
The steel around him started to oxidize. Avros’s skin turned to paper then started flaking off as the whole building began to shake. “I wonder what Murakawa will do. Far more than I could…” he said before his jaw fell to the floor.
Slipping the crystal into the opposite vest pocket of the vials, Christoph turned to run. The pain in his leg flared up again. The power was gone.
No, it was in his pocket, he realized.
Then the island began to lurch and fall toward the ocean.
Chapter 10
The world went sideways, ripping Christoph out of the hole and down to the floor. He slammed into the metal of what had been the floor, the air rushing out of his lungs. His back lit up on fire along with every other muscle in his body. He avoided a broken back just barely. A cloud of rust floated above him and drifted down. Around him metal was screaming against air.
He was seconds from death, having grabbed a power source that had turned Avros into…whatever the thing up there had been, and all he could think about was his vest’s dry-cleaning bill.
The rust was never going to come out.
Christoph grabbed the sides of the depressed curve and tried to pull himself up. Stooping to undignified grunting, he tried again.
He was stuck.
His suit was ruined.
He was running out of time. In a few seconds the whole place was going to—
The orb made a lazy half-turn, pulling him out of his rough shelf and smashing him into the floor, chest first, shredding his vest as he slid. His head landed with a soft pat on the far wall. No need to add insult to injury, he supposed.
A pain stabbed in the right side of his chest. Glancing down, he saw a dark stain starting to blossom, shards of glass digging into his skin. The vials were broken. All of them. His hands were slick too. Staring at them, he saw bits of his cane, broken to pieces, the shards of wood digging into his hands.
So this was how he was going to die, drowned by the world’s tackiest paperweight. If his old protégé
had been there, Dominic would have considered it unfair. Julie might have said the same thing. Christoph had never held much weight with the notion of fair. Heroes did, and fair meant stopping bad guys from stealing but never having to pay for property damages.
It was undignified, however, and that was unthinkable.
Standing up, trying to make the best of it, Christoph closed his eyes and tried to extend his power. In the frozen moment it expanded three feet. Then four. Then twelve. Each time he thought he had hit his limit the radius moved again. He kept pressing as he waited for the water’s impact, the crushing swells smashing into his body and mangling his bones, filling his lungs with salt and water.
The circle grew, and as he heard the steel groan and twist he felt power rushing through him. More power than he had ever felt before. The power to hold the island up higher than it had been before. The power to rip it apart and levitate back home. The power to freeze the Earth’s rotation.
He opened his eyes.
Where had the last thought come from? He shook it off, sweating as he tried to imagine the entire structure as a paper ball wadded up, waiting to be thrown in the trash.
He had to move toward the exit. He took one step, then another, inching his way to the entrance. His body was covered in sweat. He was covered in dirt and grime weighing him down. The one incongruent thing was his lack of pain. Whenever he stretched to his limits he had been in excruciating pain. A swift glance at his hands showed why. They weren’t bleeding anymore. He bet his chest wasn’t either. From the corner of his eye he caught a dull green glow.
Avros, what did you find?
Staggering out into the air, he saw he was farther up than the original distance. All of Avros’s birds were hanging above him, feet up like slaughtered poultry in a butcher’s stall. Their mouths were open, their idiot eyes staring at him.
Moving to the edge of the island, his hair matting his face and getting in his eyes, Christoph saw the sleek image of Dr. Murakawa’s aircraft appear in the distance. Finally, he was going to be able to put this all behind him. He was going to confront Heat Streak, finish her and her childish gang, meet Siv for dinner, and maybe if his knee held up get some real gardening done in the backyard.
He was also going to stop eating chicken and turkey. He never wanted to see another bird, dead or alive, for the rest of his days.
Waving his arms, feeling better with each moment, Christoph watched as the aircraft swung into view right over him, opened its doors, and extended a wiry mechanical arm right to him snagging his left pocket. It jerked him so hard when it tore the gem out he stumbled.
“Murakawa?”
Christoph survived because of his shock and because the first wave of blasts fell far enough away from him that the concussive blast of air rocketed him back before the heat and force caught up to it. Arcing into the air, he tried to think. He was in shock.
He’d been shot at.
It wasn’t the first time he had been betrayed. There had been idiots before who thought they were able to trick an accomplished villain. They had either been elite con men or younger men and women with barely emer
ged powers who thought greatness was waiting to be taken by the strong.
It was, and he had, taking their shares when they—inexplicably—went missing.
But Murakawa? His vision started to go red. He forced it back.
No, anger is for later. Live now, plot after.
Twisting in the air, Christoph glided toward the water. It had been ages since he had made a water landing. If he came in too light, every bone in his body was liable to smash into a million pieces. If he came in too heavy, he was going to sink like a stone.
Gritting his teeth, he put his palms together as if in prayer and swung down. When he was twenty feet above the water, he started with the tips of his middle fingers and worked down, trying to buoy himself to one and a half times normal.
He was to his ankles when his hands hit the water, his toes clearing as they pushed under. Switching his power off, he held his breath, staring up at the surface and the sun, waiting to see if there were any objects flying around.
There weren’t.
There was no giant ball of steel either. Both of them were gone, along with the crystal. Kicking to the surface, Christoph tried to stop gasping for air. Smoothing his hair back, pulling his vest straight, he checked his ear. The earpiece was gone. Good. No way to be tracked. Next he checked for injuries.
None other than being a large, walking bruise.
He made a checklist:
1) Get home and into some proper attire.
2) Deal with “Heat Streak”.
3) Deal with Murakawa.
4) Pick up veal for Wednesday night with Siv.
Studying the sun, Christoph turned east and started to swim.
He was heading to Selenium City.
He was going back home.
Chapter 11
There were a dozen wonderful places in Selenium City, and Christoph wasn’t able to show his face in any of them. The price of fame, no matter how far removed.
It had been twenty years since he had been to Selenium. Back then the city had an eternal glimmer to it, a polish in the daytime and a brilliant glow at night. The promise of a spectacular adventure for anyone who dared to visit. It had its darker aspects in the far corners where no decent person went, the places where the criminal element was allowed to flourish, and it was in one of those corners that Christoph landed.
Christoph allowed the natural pull of the moon’s gravity mixed with his powers to pull him the last few hours into the city and down toward the Docks. He was sunburned and his skin was wet, the fear of a cold gnawing at the back of his mind. He was worn down.
Exhausted from pushing the tide toward the shore, exhausted from swimming. The one thing keeping him going was pure rage. The doctor had betrayed him, and in the world of villains there was a price paid for betraying your partners (and failing to kill them).
Climbing up the rungs of a rusted ladder to the concrete dock, Christoph sat, bending forward, sucking in deep breaths. He stank of the ocean, his skin tingling with a million imagined wasp stings, his hair a mess. And the doctor had the crystal. In the countless decades of his career in villainy there had been few people more honorable than the doctor. The question was, why?
Christoph fought against pure anger to try to understand. What was in the gem that made it worth ruining an entire reputation?
Staring at the stars, Christoph had no answer. He took a few breaths and stood up. His leg burned and he decreased its mass a little to take the edge off. Haven’t had this much strength in years. No, I’ve never had this kind of reserve.
Turning around, Christoph caught his first sight of Selenium after all the years. All this time later it still took his breath away. Large buildings so filled with light they gave off the illusion of being made out of glass. Sweeping spotlights tearing through the town and arcing into the sky. There was always a fame-hungry hero who “accidentally” came into contact with one of them before sun up.
Despite having a computer (and the ability to use it), Christoph hadn’t watched a single video or looked at a solitary picture of the place. He didn’t want to see it change without him, grow or fall. He suspected in the light of day there were going to be flaws and broken bits in the aged city. Time was the greatest demolition expert.
“Can’t be any worse than here,” he said, gazing around. The Docks hadn’t changed much. At the edge were a bunch of shanty buildings rusted to the color of mud, propped up by a lot of idiots with delusions of grandeur. Most were low-level criminals with small amounts of drugs to sell, or garden-variety weapons to trade, or some kind of kink to indulge in.
None of those aspiring charlatans ever realized why superheroes never came to the Docks. It lacked the two most important things: high-level crime and innocent civilians.
That meant it also lacked cameras and witnesses, both of which Christoph wanted to avoid. Staying away from Selenium had been part of his deal, and he had no plans to be thrown back in jail this late in the game.
And of course—the rats.
Somewhere in every nook and cranny of the rusted metal and cracked concrete they were out there, staring, watching and sniffing, ready to swarm a warm corpse. Greasy, dirty little fur balls.
Moving forward, his eyes darting to the narrow alleys and soggy cardboard detritus, Christoph flexed his hands. His limp was barely noticeable. He was tired, but stronger than he had been in years. The serum had worked wonders. Or was it the crystal?
He shuddered as he thought about it. Whatever it was, he was glad to be rid of it. The problem was the doctor had it and whatever he had become, Dr. Murakawa was not one to squander resources.
As he moved along the docks, shivering from the cold, the smell of rat feces, decay, and other hideous odors attacked his nose. A creak of groaning metal came from his left, making him turn to see it. A crack of light under a makeshift door. A deal was going down. While it was none of his business, Christoph needed directions. He had kept up with the community, but without any real resources, most of it was hearsay. As much as it violated the Docks’ policy of minding one’s own business (and Christoph’s of interrupting civil criminal enterprises), he needed new clothes and a quiet ride out of town. Without calling attention to himself, preferably. He moved up to the door, ready to knock, trying to ignore the conversation going on inside.
Unfortunately, the walls were weak and the men on the other side were careless and stupid.
“When do we get the goods?”
“Soon. My guy says soon.”
“And it’s going to do what he says?” a third voice said.
“Maybe. Rumor is it’s going to do more. Came down the pipeline today. Spread the word.”
Christoph’s cheeks flushed as he rapped on the door. He had hoped for a lull in the conversation or some notice he was there.
“What was that?”
Not the brightest stars in the sludge.
Stepping back, Christoph held his hands against his vest as the door opened. Three men stepped out. All of them large, greasy, with (worst of all) unshapely beards. And none of them dressed well.
More hoodlums. Even the Docks had gone downhill.
“Old man.”
“Excuse me, sirs. I was wondering if—”
The door opener lunged out to grab him.
Sighing, Christoph punched him in the throat. Not enough to kill him. After all, Christoph had been an uninvited guest.
“As I was saying—”
The second man rushed him. Christoph punched him in the neck. There was a dull crack and the man fell sideways. He hadn’t meant to kill him, but it had been a long day and it was hard to gauge in the moment and all.
The last hoodlum stood still, his eyes popped wide, his mouth gaping.
“Are you going to try anything?”
“No, sir,” the man said, regaining his composure. There was hope for this generation.
“I was wondering if the Stitcher is in town.”
“That geezer,” he said, smirking. It fell away. “Not that ther
e’s anything wrong with being old.”
“Yes. I’m aware. Where is he?”
The man on the floor gave a moan and grabbed Christoph’s ankle with one hand, another going in his vest for a gun. Christoph put his heel against the man’s neck and broke it.
A murkiness flooded inside of him. He had pushed his power to the limits before, sapping his reserves. This was different. Power was still there, waiting to be drawn on, but it felt wrong. It felt like when he had the crystal. A part of him wanted to reach into his chest and rip it out. Another part found the feeling exciting.
No, he was in control.
“I do detest giving the rats a free meal. Now I’ve given them two. Three seems so…wasteful.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said shaking.
“The Stitcher. Is he still in business?”
“Sure, yeah.” The man turned to leave.
“With the same phone number?”
“Look, man, I don’t know. Can I go now?” the man said, not bothering to hide the whine in his voice.
“Go,” Christoph said, disgusted.
The hoodlum ran in the opposite direction, vanishing a second later via one of the other rusted exits made throughout the years. Reaching down to find a phone from one of his fallen comrades, Christoph hoped the young man had too much pride to tell people about an old man beating him senseless.
Because if word did get out every hero in Selenium and more than a few villains were going to be coming after him. Including Siv.
And Murakawa.
Chapter 12
Thankfully, the two dead men had burner phones on them and the call went in to a recording asking for name and location and sizes. Christoph gave all three and hung up promptly.
Shivering, he glanced at the two fallen men and their unwashed clothes (if the term was to be used loosely). He stepped forward and took a sniff, letting his face curdle. Pneumonia and death were worth the risk.
Twenty minutes later a large black van swung up near the entrance. The windows were tinted, the driver obscured from view. The back panels opened up and a florid man stepped out. In the weak light he appeared to be a large child, with no hair on his head except for wispy eyebrows. His white shirt was soaked with sweat and on his suspenders were all sorts of pockets with bits of string or pins and cushions sticking out. He had a long wooden box under his arm. When he saw Christoph he gave a quick wave a smile breaking out on his face.
