by P. S. Power
Class four or not, he wasn't bullet proof and these guards weren't just some guys with a shiny badge and a few months training. They were all un-Infected IPB agents. Most of them had been Green Berets and Delta Force or Navy SEALs before they signed up for even harder jobs here. Not guys he wanted to test really. If one of them said he'd shoot you, it was probably best to just believe him and assume the weapon was already aimed.
The doors, all heavy, all steel, opened in front of him as he walked, slowly though, they crawled open, as if drawing out his approach to freedom. The dicks were screwing with him again, trying to make it seem like he might be denied at any moment. If they did that he wasn't going back as easily this time. Life in a tiny metal box without even a toothbrush just wasn't worth it. If they tried...
They didn't. The last door that opened took him to an elevator, one that didn't have a control panel inside, but did have a nice pumpkin orange carpet. To remind him of the prison uniform? Ugly color maybe, but the walls were wood panel and had a copper looking hand rail, which he grabbed just before the doors slammed shut behind him. Now things moved quickly, trying to scare him or something.
He rocketed up, the force of the elevator being enough to nearly force him to the ground. The a-holes getting their last strike in? Yeah, that seemed about right. Well, no big thing. Be Zen. Denis took a deep calming breath when the box jerked to a stop and the doors opened into a tan and beige hallway.
Great, they'd killed him now and he'd died and gone to the great office building in the sky.
What stood waiting for him wasn't an angel at all.
Oh, it was a woman, a hot one too, dressed in white even, heavy clothes that could take a pounding, since her powers made it really hard to hurt her, she tended to be a little hard on the wardrobe. He could make her suffer, but they'd never gotten into it. Not to that level. Even back when he was a jerk he'd known better. She'd kill him in a real fight. Besides, she was kind of good looking, which made it easier to put up with her. They'd argued back and forth almost daily, but nothing major.
“Marcia! Well, good to see a familiar face. Thanks for meeting me?” He said, trying to remember what some of those books the guards had forced on him said. Steal the march and set the tone. With her in particular, he wanted friendly to take the day. Really it was a good policy with anyone that could pull your arms off.
He needed to keep that in mind, especially here, since that was every third person practically.
She looked at him with so much suspicion that it fairly curdled the air between them. Instead of cursing at him, which would have been fair really, since he'd tried to kill a teammate of hers more than once, she just nodded.
“Good. Brian said you'd agreed to not be as big a pain in the ass to everyone, but this is a really nice start. Better than expected. Walk with me.” Her voice was gruff, hard and still, somehow. As they walked she kept giving him sidelong glances. Like she was waiting for the insults to come.
Forcing a smile to his brown bearded face, Denis fell into step and tried to keep up. For all his regular daily exercise there hadn't been room in the ten by ten cell for much walking and Marcia was super-fast when she needed to be. It seemed today she did. That or she secretly wanted to shake him off and leave him standing in the hallway alone.
Without preamble she began talking.
“You're on my team now. It's a new unit, made up of people from all the main teams, you, technically, are one of the reps for Team Three. Mark is the other and if it ever comes to it, you take orders from him. Really, for the next six months you take orders from everyone. The maid service outranks you for now. If they tell you to scrub the floor, you'd better be on your hands and knees with a brush before they finish explaining how they want it done, get the idea?” She glared at him but didn't stop walking.
He gets out of prison and now he had to be everyone's bitch? That hardly seemed fair, did it? After a second he nodded and muttered yes. Keep it cool, he reminded himself. In real life no one wanted the would-be killer running the show, did they? Don't say anything stupid. Don't be a tool. It was hard to pull off, but he left it at that.
“Good. I won't threaten you, but I will point one thing out here; you were about to be taken out and killed as a liability three days ago. If Proxy hadn't stepped in and put his ass on the line for you there'd be a new set of bones out in the high desert twenty feet down. The paperwork had been signed and everything. It was even legal. If he hadn't threatened to quit it would have happened this morning instead of getting a new job with me and we'd be carting your corpse out right now. Since doing that, quitting, would probably mean his own death, without the medical treatment he gets here after his missions... well, you better not screw this up, understood? Not a lot of people have someone willing to die to give them a second chance like this, don't blow it.”
Ah. Half of that didn't make any sense to him. That was the problem of being locked up essentially alone for months on end. He got the death thing, and the stay of execution, but who was Proxy? He'd have to thank the guy. Nice to know someone in the world gave a shit about him. Denis asked, which made Marcia stop suddenly. The look was baffled for a second before a nod came.
“Right, you've been out of the loop. Proxy is Brian, his code name. So, yeah, your best friend in the whole world is the same guy you keep trying to off, and he pretty much threatened to kill himself if we didn't let you out and give you this chance. Think about that. There have been some changes. Mainly bad. You're not in the need to know for everything yet, but the current mission, well, I'll fill you in after we get you taken care of. New name, new clothes and for God's sake a new look. What did you call your old one with the mismatched awful suits and bow ties? Ventriloquist dummy sheik? Your face is going public, so clean cut and sharp looking from now on. The beard will have to go too, the “psycho hill folk” look isn't in anymore.”
Denis figured that he'd get a dressing down now, more threats of death if he didn't comply totally and maybe a face to face with the Director, shaming him into being a good little boy. Focusing he dropped into a mentally quiet spot and tried to just accept. He did deserve it after all.
Instead he got taken to Clarice, the make-up lady for the IPB's front branch, Team One, and was pushed a little roughly into a chair by the woman, who glared at him.
“Do anything but sit nicely and I'll...” She didn't get to finish, because someone else walked in just then, a pretty brunette bitch.
Denis tried to stop the thought, not because she wasn't a bitch, she really was, her face held a perpetual scowl and bitterness ran through her frame with each breath. It just didn't help him to think things like that, because, well, she was a bitch. Odds were she was about to say something that would piss him off in about five seconds.
She made it happen in two. She was a real pro at it. If she'd been aiming at anyone else Denis probably would have admired her work.
“At least he doesn't look as gay anymore. Clari dear, shave his head and get rid of that mess on his face. A short, light boned man like this can't afford to wear a bow tie, not if we want anyone to take him seriously outside the homosexual community. Even there he always polled low, those people actually have a fashion sense as a group. Wait... Are you gay Denis? We could dress him in a rainbow costume and call him the “Purple Invader” or something. That would play well with the kink crowd, don't you think Marcia?”
They all laughed, except Denis, who had to close his eyes and not speak for a while. When he did it sounded a little strained.
“No, not gay. Just poor fashion sense I guess.” Stop there, he cautioned himself. Don't say more...
He couldn't help it, the words popped out on their own.
“But if I have to be something new, how about the “Purple tickler” instead? It works with my powers better.” Then he literally had to bite down on his tongue to keep from speaking. Everyone stopped laughing and stared at him, but Charlot nodded.
“Better. Less than half the asshole you used
to be. Keep doing that, working on it. You've got the looks for public work, if you can just learn to keep your mouth shut about thirty percent of the time. Clari, go to. Let's make a man of him.”
This was done, not with the woman's normal deft touch with a sponge, but with clippers that looked like they belong on a sheep farm at shearing time. Denis had that chore as a child, so he knew firsthand. When she finished with the head she used the same ones on his face, brutally, taking the hair off and not really being too careful about his lips and nose. He didn't complain, but kind of wondered if the mutilated look had made a comeback while he'd been away.
Then, freakily, she shaved him.
Thank God for safety razors, Denis thought, the blade running over his throat a bit harder than a clean shave really needed. What had he ever done to her, he wondered. Then it hit him. Back, years ago, he'd briefly been on Team One, which had lasted about three weeks, more like two, before they all threw him away because they didn't like him. But when he met the cute make-up girl with her short hair and tight body, he'd really wanted her to like him...
So he'd pushed her into feeling good, really good, which led to her having an orgasm as she worked. Several in fact. It was only meant as advertising really, and not meant to be that intense at all, kind of like saying, see what I could do for you, but he'd gone overboard a bit and tried too hard. She took it all wrong, acting like it was rape. Luckily for him no one up top thought so, or he'd have gone away then.
A shot of anger flowed through him and he contemplated doing it again so that she'd know she hadn't beaten him, but after a few seconds Denis managed to let that go. Clari might be a bit sensitive and too willing to claim major crimes that weren't, but Denis really didn't want Marcia to punch him in the back of the head. If he wanted to die that badly he could go to medical and have them drug him into it, he felt certain. They normally didn't condone suicide, but no one here loved him all that much.
No make-up went on, and no fancy uniform came out at all. Just a plain blue button up shirt, and some faded jeans with thick gray socks and some heavy work boots. They made him change right there. Staring at him.
Like a bug.
Standing back they all looked at him critically. Charlot grimaced, clearly not happy with the effect, then, she was never happy. It was her first mode, Denis knew. Or more accurately, guessed. Then a lot of people had thought that being aggressive and mean was his too, hadn't they? Maybe they had more in common than it seemed? For all he knew her first mode was a mania that caused a love of grape popsicles or something and the bitchiness was just the way she lived her life. All he wanted was to collect all these scary women into a frightening little harem, but she had to fight not to hate everything it looked like. His deal sucked, but it was better than hers if that turned out to be the case. Most anger or aggression based first mode Infected ended up dead. They just couldn't help but kill people that got in their way. Powers plus bad attitude equaled not good things most of the time.
“What do you think Marsh?” She tilted her head as if trying to make the picture of him make sense and wasn't exactly able to.
The lady in white smiled. A grim and shallow thing but an attempt that didn't involve spitting toward him at least.
“Not bad really. Everyday workman is probably better than not for what's coming. A lot better than jack-booted thug. Really, the rest of us should probably do the same thing...” Her tone went considering. Finally he got a nod from the woman in white.
“Good enough. Meeting in half an hour on two Denis. We're between meals now, so go catch something at the dining hall on one, just grab a sandwich or something quick. Meet in the second press room.”
Marcia didn't wait for an answer that he understood or anything she just lifted him from the chair with one hand under his right arm and lightly tossed him into the hall. That he landed on his feet had more to do with her trying to make that happen or at least luck, than any skill of his. Physical stuff had never been his big thing.
The boots felt funny after not wearing anything for a long time, the running shoes had too, but these were more stiff and rubbed a little as he walked, being new. He did so quickly, finding the elevators and doing exactly what the new boss had told him to. Everybody's good little bitch girl. For now.
For six months.
Well, the food on one was better than what he'd gotten in that freaking box, even if it was hastily made by the pretty hostess herself. Just beef on rye with mayo and mustard, some pickle spears and real coffee.
God, he'd missed coffee. It fairly seeped into his soul as he sipped, wanting to linger over the china cup for hours, not knowing if anymore would come for a long time. Denis hurried though, enjoying the food and thanking the woman several times for her consideration. No money passed hands here, not even tips, which was a moot point since he didn't have any money now anyway. That had all been taken when he went into lock-up. It was simple enough for them to do, because all his funds had been controlled even before that, to keep him from buying tons of useless crap from the PX. The woman preened a little under the praise and smiled happily at him as he left, giving him a little wave.
So maybe the new look worked for him? That or not being a giant tool. Go figure. He'd always heard that chicks liked bad boys, but apparently there were limits to that effect.
The meeting room on two was big, a forty by sixty space at least, with a large table in the middle, a white oval that had a fake black and white marble stone top and cushioned chairs all around. It looked cool enough. Expensive.
The only person inside so far was one of the Team One guys, Argos. Easy to recognize even out of uniform, since the man had light brown hair that was probably called blond most of the time and a face that would have rocked Hollywood if he ever decided to get out of the super-hero biz. Denis nodded when he came in.
“Um, hi.” He said, trying to break the ice. Argos, Jason he remembered now from back in the day, looked at him and smiled.
“Oh, hello! I don't think we've met before. I'm Jay? Team One, kind of a minor player though, so you've probably never heard of me. Argos? I run pretty quick is all.” The tone was humble coming from one of the top known superheroes in the world, but genuine. His first mode was humility. Part of the reason he'd been put on Team One of course. That and the fact that he was so good looking. Like, better than movie star looks. It really wasn't fair, Denis thought, but didn't take time to dwell on the idea. A lot of things in life weren't fair. Sometimes people got a good hand like this, sometimes they got stuck in Faithhome with a freaky child molesting and abusing monster. It was just what was.
You dealt.
Denis kind of froze, since he hadn't been recognized and didn't want to bring up all the past bad feelings everyone had for him. Some of which were earned, he reminded himself. Sighing hugely, Denis forced a grin and then shook his head, trying to make it self-depreciating.
“Nah, we've met I'm afraid. I used to be Itch? Denis Tompkins? Now... Well, I'm trying not to be who I was anymore. I hope that we can be friends?” It sounded weak and wimpy, like a sissy had spoken and Denis had to suppress a shudder at himself. Then he had to stop the sarcastic diatribe that wanted to come out to save face and make him seem more manly. It wasn't easy.
Jay got a serious look on his face and went wide eyed.
“Really? Well... that's great! We can use a person with your powers on this squad I think. You're kind of the master of crowd control, right? Between you and LG, we should hardly have to work at all. The rest of us I mean. I can go around and clean up trash or something while you two do the real work.” The man didn't smile at him, but also didn't punch him in the sternum at nearly a thousand miles per hour either, so it worked out well enough.
As Jay finished a clutch of people came in, some of them he barely knew. Karen from Team One, Lady Glory to the public, smiled at him warmly. Her first mode was compassion though, so she probably didn't have a choice. She was a cute and fit red-head that Denis desperately wanted to
bang if he could. He always had. A former Olympic gymnast, so she'd probably be really flexible. Again the words wanted to pop out, but having been alone for months saved him, because with no one around he hadn't talked most of the time. It had become habit.
Mark from Team Three sat beside him suddenly. It was his power of freezing time for everyone but himself, rather than teleportation. It was way more powerful than it sounded. Probably making him one of the most powerful beings in the world, Denis knew. A really nice guy too. A bit of a big Jewish nose, but hey, he was Jewish, so it worked for him. Good at baking too. Really, Denis decided, he just didn't know the man that well. They'd mainly gotten along, because the guy was completely non-confrontational, even if verbally abused. If he got disrupted mentally time would freeze, a self-defense mechanism that could barely be controlled, so he had to stay calm and collected, no matter what. It left him a little bland emotionally, and sounding a bit like a pot head, but hey, whatever worked. Just to be in the world with the rest of them meant the man had basically mastered his first mode. Abject and total fear. All the time, without end. If he could do that, there had to be hope for Denis, right?
“Denis. Good to see you.” Was all he said, as if nothing had happened. Then to him, maybe it hadn't? It had to be odd to be Mark, living the way he did, because when time stopped he didn't age or change at all, but Denis knew that some of his missions took years to finish, walking across thousands of miles to fix a problem sometimes. It just seemed instant to everyone else. To Mark it meant he probably hadn't seen Denis for decades at this point. That would be normalish to the man though, he didn't see a lot of people to talk to for months and years, then had to pretend that they were just continuing the conversation they'd been having or something like that. It was fucked up.
“You too Mark. How have things been going?” When you don't know what to say, toss the ball back. It was in the books.
The other man nodded, as if thinking for a moment.
“Not too bad. I have a baking show coming out soon, the set's on the first floor here. Cakes and pastries, that kind of thing, it's mainly PR, trying to show that all Infected aren't monsters. Brian's idea.” Tilting his head sideways Mark smiled, a calm thing that looked a little dreamy.
