Superheroes in Prose Volume Six: I, Pink

by Sevan Paris

  “You can’t know all that—all this stuff—simply by ‘noticing’ someone.”

  “No, you can’t know all of that simply by noticing someone. But I pay attention. And I know what to look for.”

  The waitress returns with my other beer. Casa grabs it and raises it to his mouth. “Need more convincing?”

  I snatch the beer from him, mid-gulp.

  Casa wipes his chin. “Fine: you’re Daisy Dale. AKA Bubble Trouble, former probationary member of HEROES. Your mother blamed you for your father’s death. One month ago, you made a deal with the Sayer known as Macabre to—”

  “Shut-up!” I look around the diner, then lower my voice to a whisper: “Look, pay attention to people or not, there’s no way you can know all of that.”

  Casa nods. “Having illegal access to security cameras like the ones here, on the Icarus I, and HEROES Tower helps more than a little.”

  “…. If all that’s supposed to shock and awe me, I got some bad news for ya, Sal. I don’t care about any of that stuff. Or who I—that person—was.”

  Casa leans in close, lowering his voice. “Then why are we whispering?”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  Casa leans back and grins. “You obviously care about something, or you wouldn’t be sitting here. Again. Trying to get comfortably numb.”

  “Try already numb. I gave away everything in me that cared about anything or anyone forever ago.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it. The other way is actually what happened.”

  “Listen, I’m sure whatever you’ve got to say is really fascinating, but the good father’s buzz is about to wear off, so—”

  “Liberty set you up.”

  Brittany starts the song over. Somebody on the other side of the diner groans.

  “What?”

  “Did you ever ask yourself why you did such a monumentally stupid thing as make a deal with a Sayer, let alone one as dangerous as Macabre?”

  “Duh? Because I wanted it?”

  “Did you? Or was what you wanted the byproduct of the hazing that took place with Liberty and the others at the debriefing?”

  “Wait—you’re saying they … manipulated me into going to Macabre? …. No way. There is no way they could have set something up to happen that perfectly.”

  “No, not without the help of a little telepathic suggestion. Huh—” Casa’s eyes dart back and forth—“if only Liberty knew somebody that could do that …”

  Unable to help myself, I look at the diner’s table as if the answer is there somewhere. I think about my state of mind at the Tower, about not wanting to do that stuff. And then saying things, contradictory things, out loud a half second later …

  …. I had turned to leave, but stopped. “I want your help, Macabre.”

  …. The words that came out in a rush, as if they weren’t mine: “I want you to … to make all of these—I have problems that I want to get rid of.”

  …. I wanted to go, but I whispered, “There is nowhere to go.”

  “And,” Casa says, “let’s not forget that you approached a prisoner being held right in the basement of HEROES Tower after you’d been dismissed. Do you really think that you could have gone down there if Liberty didn’t want you to be down there?”

  “Son of a bitch,” I say, a lot louder than I mean to. The pregnant waitress looks at me. “But why? Why would they want this to happen?”

  “Duh?” Casa says, mocking my tone from earlier. “Because they thought—or hoped—that Macabre would do something else: They thought he would turn you into his Ward.” Casa takes my beer. And I’m so stunned, so pissed at the world, I can’t help but let him.

  He knocks back half the glass. “And it may have started even before that. Anybody would have been scared, but you were terrified on the Icarus, far more so than your psych eval indicates you should have been. Which is something that—”

  “You’ve seen my psych eval?”

  “—which is something that Thinkor could have manufactured fairly easily. And then later on, in the conference room, he made sure that you were at your worst before he planted the suggestion into your mind. For you to actually do the worst.”

  “…. Liberty wanted a gift wrapped Ward. Someone he could … ?”

  Casa nods. “Someone he could kill, thereby ending the threat of Macabre once and for all. But Macabre surprised Liberty by turning you into this instead.”

  This … this is all too much. “Let’s say I believe you. What then? What good is this supposed to do anyone?”

  “Because, Liberty is doing things that are far worse to more people. Things that I might be able to stop, with your help.”

  “I don’t care. About anyone or anything.”

  Casa sighs. “You’re not getting drunk because you’re apathetic. You’re getting drunk because you want make yourself apathetic. A lot of who you were was taken away. But not the part that at least cares about yourself. And that part wants a purpose. A reason for living. Help me fight Liberty and you’ll have it.”

  “What, so I can regain what I lost? Newsflash pal: I don’t want it back. Whether or not it was me who wanted this, I like who I am.”

  His eyes narrow. “I’m not saying you should want it back. I’m saying you should remember why you lost it.” Casa finishes the rest of my beer in three throaty gulps and stands. “I’ll be outside, in the Volvo, when you’ve decided you’re ready to have a life.”

  He walks through the door.

  After two more beers, and thirty minutes of watching the racist bartender, the pregnant waitress, and the gay guy behind me, I follow him.

  ***

  Can you change your appearance while in your mist form?” Casa said to me after the diner.

  “I think so,” I said. “Maybe. “But what’s the point? HEROES will figure out who I am anyway.”

  “You’re not masking your identity; you’re masking your purpose.”

  “Okay, team,” Liberty says to the other HEROES gathered in the conference room. “Let’s go over what we do know about Major Mayhem’s last sighting. We may need to pool our resources with the Fabulous Five to …” Liberty trails off, looking at the pink, free floating apparition floating through the door.

  The others follow Liberty’s gaze to me, the thirteen year old looking girl wearing an I heart Brittany t-shirt, capris and keds. Rock’s mouth tries to form words.

  I giggle. “I know, right?”

  “I know a ghost-kid wearing an I heart Brittany shirt isn’t going to be that intimidating,” I said to Casa. “But—”

  “On the contrary, people hate reminders of death, especially the death of a child.”

  “I was going to say ‘but this reminds me of when things were better, in my life.’ ”

  “Which means it will help keep your real intentions hidden. Just make sure they’re not hidden from yourself.”

  “Whatever. What do I do when I’m in?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Uh, repeat?”

  “Liberty will make the first move for you. You let him.”

  Most of them stand, readying weapons, Magicks, and fists. Liberty stays in his seat: “Daisy,” he says. He might as well be discussing the weather.

  “In the flesh, sweetie.” I put my hand on my hip. “Or mist or whatever.”

  Mystick narrows her dark eye lashes. “Her aura … it’s—” she rounds on Liberty. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?”

  Liberty places his hand in the air between him and Mystick. “Later.”

  “Ms. Mystick never would have agreed to what the others did to you. She’ll be surprised. And then she’ll confront Liberty. Unfortunately for her, Liberty will confront back, hard and quick. She’s too powerful for him to mess around with.”

  Mystick steps between us. “You will answer me, Jacob, or—”

  With the back of his raised hand, Liberty smacks her.

  He doesn’t put a lot of umph into it, just looks like a l
ight slap. But there is enough Supersauce behind it to send Mystick over the table and against the window. She slides to the floor unconscious, leaving a large crack in the glass.

  “I said ‘later.’ ”

  “And then?”

  “Rock will be confused. But Thinkor and Sentinel won’t be phased by Liberty’s attack on Mystick. Thinkor will waste seconds trying to get a read on you, leaving only Sentinel for you to deal with first.”

  Sentinel rushes me, boot jets pushing him out of the chair with a flaming roar. His energy lance crackles to life in his right hand, he rears back …

  And I leap into him.

  My hands reach into his t-shaped visor … Sentinel tries to back away, screaming and shielding his face—as if either will help. He’s nothing more to me than an empty dress.

  My legs go in. One, then the other. I pull his arms over mine like sleeves and flick the straps of his brain over my shoulders. With a little bit of a shake and a twist, his body is the rest of the way over mine. My vision swirls for a moment, just before clearing inside his helmet.

  “Jumping in Sentinel is a bad idea,” I said. “There is no way I’ll know how to operate that Camelot getup he has.”

  “Have you ever had trouble with walking after you’re in a new body?”

  “Uh, no? but I mastered walking around the ripe old age of two.”

  “But with YOUR legs. Everyone else’s legs are different. Yet you have no problems walking around in them, regardless of their size. Which means you have access to the subconscious tasks of your host: driving, eating, that sort of thing.

  “Eating? Think this is, like, way different than taking a bite of pizza …”

  “Sentinel has been fighting with incarnations of that armor for a decade. Most of the functions are going to be second nature for him. That means they’ll be second nature for you too.”

  “…. This seems like a really ginormous leap.”

  “Get used to it.”

  I see Rock, Liberty, and Thinkor through a pattern of lines and circles in Sentinel’s t-shaped heads up display. Glowing icons dance around them, asking me what I want to do. One icon looks like the energy lance still in Sentinel’s right hand. I focus on it, expanding a list of options to the right: fire, throw, stab.

  The sparking energy lance in Sentinel’s hand reflects off Rock’s grey skin. “Daisy …” he says, looking from me to Liberty. “As in Daisy Dale?”

  “As in,” I say through Silver Sentinel’s mouth.

  Rock backs away, eyes on the crackling energy lance. “Daisy, how—what happened to you?”

  “This is the part where I tell you not to use the lance on Rock. And then the part where you say—”

  “Eff that.”

  “…. Rock didn’t know. Everything in his psych profile indicates that he’s a boring, single minded individual. If he said you were not ready and that it was nothing personal, then that’s really what he believed. Furthermore, I don’t think he knows Liberty as well as—”

  “So, what? That makes the backstab less stab-y? I confided in him and he totally chumped me, and—”

  “If you go down this road—”

  “—AND bee-tee-dub’s, this isn’t up for discussion. If you want your mole, or whatever, I’m handling Rock my own way. If you got a problem with that—let me know right here, right now. And we’re done.”

  “…. After Rock, you’ll have to deal with Thinkor …”

  “You happened, Rock, remember?” I say. “With the something to prove and daddy issues conversation?”

  “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

  “Doesn’t matter. All that does matter is this—” I raise Sentinel’s lance—“it WAS personal.”

  I choose ‘throw’ in the heads up display.

  The lance leaves Sentinel’s hand and pierces Rock’s chest, sending an angry fury of yellow sparks in every direction. Rock’s stony body jerks up as if attached to strings, thrashing arms breaking away large chunks of the marble table. His deep screams mix with the raging hum of electricity arcing around his body. Rock lurches back more and more and then—with one furious crack—he bends at an impossible angle and falls limply to the floor. Two sparks fizzle out of his mouth, followed by a gentle column of smoke.

  Inside Sentinel’s helmet, I grin.

  That’s when Thinkor sends his cold, slimy fingers into my head.

  Thinkor eventually will realize he can grab a hold of your mind while you’re inside another person. When you start feeling him inside Sentinel’s brain, it’s time to vacate.”

  “Armor, target Thinkor and attack!” I say with Sentinel’s mouth. And then leap out of him. Silver Sentinel has just enough time to yell a surprise before his armor rockets into Thinkor, taking both of them smashing through the window and into the sky over Prose.

  As the last chunk of ringing glass falls to the floor beside Mystick, I turn to face Liberty: He’s still in his seat, fingers steepled in front of his face.

  “You ready, big guy?” I say.

  “But, this doesn’t make any sense, Casa. Why don’t I just go after Liberty first? He’s the biggest threat.”

  “Liberty won’t attack you unless you pose a threat to him. He’s going to let everything play out, let his teammates do the fighting while he evaluates your powers and your ability to use them. You need him to do this if you’re to convince him of your importance. And then there’s the other reason.”

  “Which is?”

  “He’s stupidly powerful.”

  “I can take him.”

  “No you can’t.”

  “But I—”

  “No. You can’t.”

  Liberty opens his mouth, just slightly.

  And all the windows in the room shatter.

  His sonic scream … he doesn’t use it much. Just when he wants to make a point. And boy, does he. I think one wave—just one—leaves his lips and rips through me, shredding pieces of me every which way. My mind, my thoughts, splinter. Panic seizes what’s left of my soul, and I screech in profound agony.

  “Magick may have made you like this, but you exist as a type of energy, which can be changed, combined or separated. Liberty’s enhanced vision will spot this. And his screams can separate you past the point of no return. You try to attack him, he’ll kill you.”

  “So, if I don’t attack him, he won’t use it?”

  “Oh, no. He’ll definitely use it. Just to prove he’s in control.”

  “I trust that I’ve made my point,” Liberty says, fingers still steepled in front of his face, “Now, I’m going to give you thirty seconds to make yours.”

  “At this point in the conversation, you have to convince him of two things: this is what you want and this is what he needs. Failure to do one means you’ll die. Failure to do both means you’ll die painfully.”

  “How do I convince him of all that stuff?”

  “Easy: tell him the truth.”

  “Well?” Liberty says.

  “I know what you and Thinkor did to me. And I get why you did it. And I’m glad you did it.”

  Liberty raises his eyebrows.

  “After Macabre changed me, I was … wondering, floating over the streets of Prose for a long time, trying to figure out what I’d become. Trying to figure out who I could blame. Then I realized, I had nobody to blame but myself. I let what everybody else—what they said, what they thought—I let all of that influence who I was. And you freed me of that.”

  The sound of two roaring boot jets announces the return of Silver Sentinel, bringing Thinkor with him. He places Thinkor on the floor, and both of them take a super-aggressive step in my direction. Liberty raises his hand, freezing them in their tracks.

  “Even right now, knowing that you could kill me doesn’t scare me like it should. I mean—don’t get me wrong—dying and stuff is scary. But, for once, what you think about me isn’t. Or what anybody else thinks about me.”

  “And Rock?” Liberty says. “Your comments to him certa
inly indicate betrayal.”

  “What you did, at least the way you did it, was necessary. What Rock did—using my life against me—wasn’t. It was dirty. In the end, he did what he thought was necessary and so did I. I’m not going to say I’m sorry for it. And I don’t think he would have either.”

  I think Liberty gives me just the slightest hint of a nod.

  “I’m better now, guys. Tougher. More powerful. And I’ve got what this team needs—what you need—to get the job done. And you obviously need me.”

  Liberty chuckles. “How is that exactly?”

  “Because you weren’t ready for me. You didn’t know how to handle me. Which means the bad guys won’t either.”

  A silence passes while Liberty thinks about killing me. Ms. Mystick stirs.

  “You’re really thinking about this?” Sentinel says. “After everything she just did?”

  “Considering everything we did to her, I would say her actions make her more trustworthy, not less.”

  “But—” Sentinel begins.

  “She could just as easily have entered one of you while you were sleeping. And took more revenge on you than your bodies could have handled.”

  “What about Macabre?” Thinkor whispers. “How do we know she didn’t have a hand in his recent escape?”

  “Macabre escaped?” I say.

  “Of course you would say that,” Sentinel says.

  “If they were working together during his escape, they would be working together now,” Liberty says. “Which means they would be here together, now.”

  Liberty allows the silence that follows to help his words sink.

  “If she stays,” Sentinel finally says, stabbing his finger at me, “She’s going to let Thinkor come up with a way to protect us from her shit. I know his blocks can only protect us from one Super at a time, but I’ll gladly spend mine on her. There’s no way I’m going to trust the little brat. And I’m not going through anything like that again.”