by Drew Hayes
If Vince had been a bit more focused on the task at hand and a bit less lost in his haze of memories and potential plans for the future, it’s entirely possible he would have heard the figure sneaking up behind him in time to react. That was not the case, however, and so as Vince rounded the side-street to the parking lot where Alice’s car was located, he felt a blast of freezing energy smash against his lower back, frosting over his legs and sticking him in place. The next blast hit his upper back, locking his arms and reinforcing the restriction on his torso.
“You’d think a guy like you would learn to watch his back,” said Michael’s all-too-familiar-by-this-point voice.
“S-S-S-orry,” Vince chattered though his rapidly cooling jaw. “I d-d-on’t think lik-k-ke a c-c-coward.”
“I’ve gotten really sick of that mouth of yours, Sucker Punch,” Michael sneered as he circled around to Vince’s front. Vince snorted a laugh out through the cold and Michael’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny?”
“Ir-rony,” Vince answered, slowly letting his reserve of heat pour out all over his body, melting the ice on contact with his skin.
“I’m glad you got a good chuckle,” Michael taunted. “See, I figured something out about you. You might be a good fighter, but you’re weak as shit. All you had was one punch when we fought. So even if you’ve got a little fire in you, I’m betting if I wrap you in ice ten inches thick you won’t be able to burn your way out of it.”
“You b-b-bet wrong,” Vince lied, trying valiantly to keep the rush of fear off of his face.
“Could be,” Michael agreed. “Let’s find out.”
44.
Most eighteen-year-old men would feel at least a bit self-conscious to be eighty percent uncovered and coated in oil at a crowded costumed social event. Then again, Roy Daniels had never been especially similar to other people his age. Perhaps that was why as he took a tour around the dance floor, sipping on a beer, he savored all the looks and glances people were throwing his way. At no point did the idea that anyone found his costume, or the large amount of well-muscled body that it exposed, to be in any way unattractive cross his mind. Roy’s ego had undoubtedly taken a hit at his loss to Chad some weeks earlier, but that was only the part of his esteem tethered to fighting. When it came to his looks, that mountain of security was still utterly unmoved.
Roy pulled up to new vendor in order to refresh his beer supply. He’d done a few tours of the room now, and had selected the five women that he felt were at the top of the attractiveness scale. Roy had shown patience, and it had paid off, because three of those women had arrived after he had. It was always important to make sure you waited to find the best, because if something better came along and you were already mid-game, it was a huge pain in the ass to start over. Roy was willing to do a fair few things for new tail, but working harder than he absolutely had to was not one of those things.
“I totally thought that line would work,” Nick’s familiar voice complained as he and Alex joined in the line behind Roy to purchase drinks.
“Traditionally ‘nice shoes, want to fuck?’ is used as a joke, not a real line,” Alex explained to him.
“Still, I felt the slap was a bit much,” Nick added, rubbing his cheek.
“I take you girls... er, that you’re striking out with the girls?” Roy asked with a half-turn, catching himself mid-sentence with the belittling terminology he was accustomed to using. Mary had left no wiggle room for that one; it was fully off-limits.
“Striking out is such vulgar terminology,” Nick replied. “It implies that we’re playing a game, which would make these women prizes to be won. I think we can all agree they’re intelligent, independent beings who deserve to be held in higher esteem than that.”
“You do realize there aren’t any girls in earshot, don’t you?” Roy asked.
“Oh. Yeah, them hoes be shutting us down,” Nick shrugged.
“Word,” Alex seconded.
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Nick, you’re wearing sunglasses at night in a party, and Alex is dressed up like someone from a sci-fi movie,” Roy pointed out.
“Chicks dig the shades,” Nick shot back.
“That’s why you’re standing in line with another guy right now?” Roy countered.
“I don’t see you doing much better, Romeo,” Nick said. “You’re waiting in line by yourself.”
“I’m choosing my target carefully,” Roy told him. “There’s a lot of talent here tonight. I want to make sure I’m getting the biggest piece of chicken on the table.”
Nick and Alex responded with very questioning, very confused looks.
“It’s a southern metaphor,” Roy explained.
“Dude. You’re from Chicago,” Nick said.
“Hershel is from Chicago. I’m from the deep south.”
“That makes, quite literally, no sense at all,” Nick said.
“Word,” Alex seconded again.
“Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you guys. The point is I’m picking the best girl here to go home with. That’s the only reason I’m solo right now,” Roy said, stepping forward as the boy in front of him finished setting his money onto the counter.
“So that’s it, huh? You’ll just pick the best one and of course she’ll go home with you?” Alex asked.
“Yup,” Roy said as he selected his beer.
“This I’ve got to see,” Nick said.
“Feel free,” Roy agreed. “Just keep your distance while the master works. As for me, I’ve picked my target, so it’s go time.”
* * *
“Looks like I wasn’t so wrong after all,” Michael chuckled. Vince couldn’t reply, unfortunately, since Michael had frozen him almost totally solid. The only part of his body still exposed was the top half of his head, allowing him to breathe. And, of course, to stay conscious and suffer. The rest of his body was caked in inches of ice. The only thing keeping him from hypothermia was the slow pulse of heat he was releasing all across his body intermittently. Vince only had a few lighters’ worth of fire in him, though, and his reserves were running dangerously low.
“You look kind of silly,” Michael commented as he surveyed his work. “I think it suits you, though. It’s like a living piece of art, a testament to what happens when you take on Michael Clark. I feel like you’ve learned your lesson tonight, haven’t you?”
Vince stared at his bald tormentor, unsure of exactly how Michael was expecting him to convey surrender.
“Oh, right, froze your jaw there. Okay, I’ll make it simple. Just blink twice to show me you understand, and I think we can finally be done with this.”
Vince locked eyes with Michael. The smart thing was to blink twice, get free, and come at Michael again on another day. A day when he wasn’t totally helpless and fast running out of energy, a day when he had a real chance at taking this cock-bag down. It was the most basic strategic decision he could have been presented with.
Vince didn’t blink. His eyelid didn’t even twitch.
“That’s a shame, Vince; I really thought you and I had come to an understanding. I guess we need to continue the education, though,” Michael sighed. He pulled back his fist and focused his energy.
“I have severe doubts that this is a sanctioned match,” said a deep, male voice from behind Michael. Before Michael was able to turn and see who the speaker was, two beams of orange energy had snared him. One wrapped around his forearm and the other grabbed his torso, yanking him up into the air.
“Who the fuck are you?” Michael spit, jerking and twisting his arm to get free.
“My friends call me Thomas,” the speaker said, stepping into Vince’s view. “I have a feeling you won’t be counting yourself as one of those, though.” Thomas was a dark-skinned male, one Vince recognized from gym and their Ethics class. He was dressed as a Native American, and both of his hands were outstretched, a beam of orange energy emanating from each one.
“I’ve got him restrained,” Thomas called out. “Y
ou guys check on his victim.”
Vince heard three people approaching behind him. He would have turned to look if he’d possessed a full range of motion. As it was, all he could do was listen.
“He’s not a victim,” Michael yelled. “We were just having a fight.”
“An unsanctioned fight, in the middle of an alleyway where anyone could have seen you using your powers, and where it looks like you’re tormenting him after having won a long time ago. Yeah, this seems real legit,” Thomas said calmly
“I think he’s okay,” called out a deep female voice. “Violet’s going to weaken the ice so we can pull him out.”
“I wouldn’t be averse to a little help here,” Thomas called back. “He’s still struggling, and this guy isn’t the number three rank for nothing.”
“I’ve got to work on the ice and we’ll need Camille as soon as I’m done,” said a new female voice, presumably Violet.
“That just leaves me,” said the original female voice. She walked past Vince as she approached Michael. It was a girl he easily recognized from class. Thought she was dressed as some sort of Viking woman, the tightly braided hair pulled back gave her away as Stella, the girl in class that always asked questions without raising her hand. She strode right over to where Michael was struggling a foot or so off the ground and punched him in the throat. His twisting and jerking was immediately replaced by rasping and choking for air.
“That was excessive force,” Thomas chided her.
“No, it was the best solution,” Stella argued. “If I’d said to let him down and we’d fought him all honorably then he would have used his full power, so we would have had to do the same, and it would have caused a lot of property damage as well as creating a damn good chance we’d all be outed as Supers. Sometimes the only option is a quick punch to the throat.”
“I’m almost got him over here,” said Violet, still behind Vince. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but he could feel the ice behind him cracking apart and giving way. All at once a chunk of it fell away and Vince felt himself tipping backwards. Two pairs of arms caught him and laid him down upon the pavement. His energy almost completely depleted and his life out of danger, Vince did the only thing he was capable of at that point.
“Thank you,” Vince mumbled weakly, and then passed out into sweet oblivion.
45.
Vince came around a few minutes later, shivering slightly, and pulled himself up off the concrete.
“Whoa there, buddy, I’d go slow if I were you. Camille patched you up, but cold has a way of seeping in on people,” said the dark-skinned boy dressed as a Native American.
“I’m getting used to it,” Vince said. “Sadly.”
“I take it you and Baldy have a history?”
“Only in his sad, angry little cue ball of a head,” Vince said. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.”
“Of course,” Thomas said. “It was an illegal match and you were down. There was nothing else to do.”
“Well, I’m still glad you wandered by. My name is Vince, by the way.”
“Thomas,” Thomas replied, extending a hand. Vince accepted and shook it.
“So I heard,” Vince said. “Where are the rest of your friends?”
“Camille went to get some help, and Violet and Stella are escorting Frosty back to campus,” Thomas told him. “He’ll be less of an ass after he sleeps off the alcohol... we hope.”
“Michael was drunk?” Vince said in surprise.
“My understanding is that most students have a pre-party a bit before these events, especially the underage ones who can’t buy anything during. It seems he went a little overboard,” Thomas said.
“I guess I feel a little bit better,” Vince said. “Also, you should call your friend Camille. I’m going to be fine, I don’t need any more help, and I really don’t want to cause a fuss.”
“You sure about that? You took a pretty nasty beating there.”
“I’m sure,” Vince confirmed. “Your healer took care of nearly everything except the exhaustion. Right now all I want to do is catch a bus home and sleep for a day.”
“Your call, I guess,” Thomas shrugged.
“That it is,” Vince agreed. “Thanks again for saving me though. I can’t express how glad I am you guys stopped him.”
“A person was in need,” Thomas replied. “That’s the exact reason we’re going through this training anyway, right? Besides, once we report him on Monday I’m pretty sure you won’t have to worry about Michael anymore.”
“Report him?” Vince asked.
“Of course. He broke the rules,” Thomas answered.
“Sure, but I mean I’m okay and everything. Like I said, I’d rather avoid a fuss,” Vince said.
“He broke the rules,” Thomas said again. “That means he has to be reported so he can face the consequences.”
“Yes... yes, you’re right, of course,” Vince agreed. “By all means make the report on Monday. If you’ll excuse me, though, I really am feeling drained from my ordeal.”
“Of course; go home and rest. Are you sure you don’t need any more help?”
“I’m positive,” Vince reassured him. “But tell your friends thanks as well from me.”
“Will do,” Thomas agreed.
* * *
"Mr. Reynolds," Dean Blaine called as Vince entered Ethics of Heroism on Tuesday. "May I speak with you a moment?"
"Um, sure," Vince said awkwardly. He had pretty good inclination what this was going to be about and it was something he'd been hoping dearly would slide by unnoticed.
"It seems Coach George would like you to go to the gym today instead of attending my class," Dean Blaine said, any possible resentment at his class being snubbed hidden artfully in the smile that stretched across his face.
"Is that okay?" Vince asked. "I mean, we start presentations today."
"You and Mr. Murray are scheduled for Thursday since, as you know, we weren't able to fit all of them into just one class. I do hope you'll hurry back to watch the others if possible, but if Coach George feels this is important enough to pull you from class, then you should make sure and give him your full attention," Dean Blaine assured him.
No other option coming to mind, Vince waded against the incoming crowd and made his way to the gymnasium. Nick noticed idly that Vince was exiting instead of entering, but he'd been suspecting something was up since Saturday, anyway. Vince wasn't the kind of guy to flake out, so when he'd vanished early in the night only to text Sasha that he'd gotten suddenly ill and had caught a bus home, it was obvious he was lying. Inconvenient too, since he'd had Alice's keys when he ditched. Fortunately Sasha was able to dash over and recover them, so the pilgrimage home had been possible.
Whatever Vince was dealing with obviously was tethered to what happened Saturday, but Nick's attention was focused on his task at hand for the day. He and Alice were scheduled to present, and he had a bad feeling he knew exactly the spot they were going in. Sure enough, as the class settled into their seats, Alice's tall frame remained standing, speaking hurriedly to Dean Blaine and gesturing to the mountain of poster-board she had dragged along with her. One might think she hadn't heard of a slideshow program, but one would be wrong. The posters were supplemental to the slide show. She'd worked extra hard to get them done in time. As she motioned for him to come up to the front, Nick groaned inwardly. He should have picked a worse subject to do the report over. Not even Globe was going to drag them down enough with her putting out this kind of effort.
"Class, it seems one of today's teams brought along some materials that would be inconvenient to store, so they've kindly volunteered to start us off today," Dean Blaine told the students as Alice ordered Nick around behind him, the duo quickly setting up their posters and loading the presentation onto the computer. "I'm sure all of you feel just devastated by this loss of opportunity, but please try to keep your disappointment to yourself."
A polite chuckle rippled through the class. People lear
n early on to laugh at the jokes of those in charge, and that goes for Supers just as much as humans. Dean Blaine cast a glance back at Alice, who flashed him a grin and a thumbs-up, so he continued. "It seems our group is ready. I urge you to give them your full attention and ask any relevant questions once they are finished. Remember, participation is a vital part of my class."
With that, Dean Blaine took a seat at a desk formerly occupied by one of the ever-mounting number of students who had washed out. Nick cleared his throat and stepped to the center of the classroom. He'd managed to talk Alice into letting him speak on the grounds that he had more practice at it than she (truth) and that he would give a better presentation overall because of that (lie). The reality was that he wanted to control the flow of the presentation, hindering where he could and helping it if he had to. Nick was determined to squeak out of this incident as nothing more than an afterthought in the minds of the class, no matter how much effort it took.
"Alice and I chose something of a controversial Hero for our presentation," Nick began. "In fact, I think many would argue whether he should still even be rightly categorized as one. Certainly there have been outcries by some to strip him of any semblance of that title, even in reference to the years he served dutifully as one. There is some validity to those opinions, just as there is some in the beliefs of a few people that this Hero was a victim of some deeper problem, or that his fall from grace was orchestrated. Today, we are going to look over the known life, and ultimately the demise, of a Hero with the code name Globe."
Nick's monologue was interrupted by a loud CRACK that echoed through the room. The source was immediately visible, as a part of Chad's desk fell heavily to the floor. Chad hastily rose from his seat.
"I'm so sorry about the interruption," Chad apologized to Nick. "My hand slipped while I was resting it on the corner of my desk. I think I must be feeling ill, so I'll excuse myself to the infirmary and let you get back to your work. Again, very sorry." Without so much as a glance for confirmation to Dean Blaine, Chad strode out of the room.
