by Various
“It is Hero, though. Maybe he doesn’t really need a brain.”
“You’re not helping, Artie,” I said. “Can you guys get it off or not?”
Thrasher began fiddling at his utility belt. “I think I have some tools here.”
<…wait…>
The projection was weak, yet it was there. In my head.
“Hold on,” I said, sitting up straighter. I peered to our left.
The beast was gone. Legato was sprawled in its place, on her side in a huge pool of dark ichor which was way more blood than her body could contain at her present size. She was facing us. She reached weakly toward me.
“I…I can remove the leech…,” she said.
“Why would you help me?”
“Don’t you dare!” Dornasian seethed and tugged at the coils with renewed vigor.
“SHUT UP!” Thrasher and Artemis both yelled in tandem.
Artemis extended her arm and shot an iron spike into the wall by the demon’s head. “Don’t you say another damn word, got it? That’s iron, and the next spike is between your goddamn eyes.”
Dornasian stilled.
“I’m dying,” Legato said. “I have nothing…left to…be afraid of. Just let me help.”
I crawled over next to her.
“You sure about this?” Artemis said from behind me.
“Yeah.” The look in Legato’s eyes right before she had transformed and right after Dornasian had commanded her to…something about that look made me trust her now. The vaunted Lord of Monsters held some power over these creatures in life, but no longer in death, and the wyvern Legato was no longer in the demon’s thrall.
She raised her arm, though too weak she no longer had the strength to reach the back of my head. I took her hand and placed it there.
The thing quivered.
I nodded. A deep sadness came over me. My eyes moistened. I felt the leech withdraw, but as it did so, I picked up one last sending.
The leech rolled down her arm halfway and plopped onto the blood-slick, cold ground. It wriggled and went still. Its glow faded. All of the other grub-like creatures in the cavern fell to the floor, and went dark, as well, dampening us all in the bleak green phosphorescence of the lichen coating the stone walls.
Thrasher clicked on an LED from his belt and shined it down on us.
The chimeric, telempathic wyvern named Dana Legato was dead.
#
The three of us stood beside the Brown Bird, Thrasher’s signature stealth wing. He had touched down about a half-mile from the cave, and we had Dornasian contained inside. We’d even loaded the bodies of the two chimerics, who Thrasher knew as Behemoth, the big dead fella with half a head, and the decapitated blonde, a class B chimeric codenamed Flightpath.
“You sure you don’t want to ride with us?” Artemis eyeballed me. “You look terrible. It’s a little scary, not to mention new, to see you this screwed up.”
“I’ll be okay, thanks to you two.”
“I’m glad you never took your locater off,” Thrasher said.
“I guess I’m not as stupid as I look.”
“I wouldn’t say that now.” Thrasher laughed.
We shook hands, then Artemis came forward and gave me a long hug. In all the years I’d known her, she’d never once done that. She saw the look on my face. “Hey.” She smacked my shoulder. “We almost lost Hero today to the bad guys today. That’s worth a hug.”
“Just a hug?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“See you back on the mainland.” Thrasher ducked into the Bird.
“We’ll drop the demon off at HQ,” Artemis said, then paused just as she was about to get into the stealth wing. “I’m curious. You’re no longer sponsored. Where are you headed now anyway?”
I nodded my head for a second. “I’m gonna go looking for an old friend.”
(They Call Me) Epilogue
Steve Diamond
“Thank you, everyone! I am truly touched by your support and words of love and kindness.”
Kennedy Ross put a trembling hand to her lips and stared out at the crowd assembled before her. They were here, not just for her, but for her late husband. She looked back at the statue erected in her husband’s honor. It was marvelous. Though she was sure Ted would have been a touch embarrassed by it, she knew he would have also been humbled.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” Kennedy continued. “It has been terribly hard without my husband. But, without knowing it, he taught me how to be strong. Every day.”
“Mrs. Ross?” It was a reporter from the DC Herald. Kennedy recognized him as Albert Tanner. She knew all the reporters, and made a point to study up on them.
“Yes, Al?”
He smiled up at her, and she noted the little bit of green spinach stuck between his front teeth. It was a habit of his, Kennedy knew, to eat a spinach salad before attending any press event. People are so predictable.
“Mrs. Ross,” Albert said, “does it every bother you that the man known as the Human Shield didn’t come into his powers until after he failed to prevent your husband’s death?”
Kennedy knew the question was coming. She’d already answered it a dozen times, but that hardly mattered to the press. She wiped at her eyes, at the tears she’d allowed to gather there, and nodded like this was the first time she’d head the baiting question. Outwardly she let a sad smile develop on her lips. Inwardly she wanted to take that arrogant little piece of sh—
No. This isn’t the time for that.
“Al, of course it bothers me. How can’t it? For a long time it ate me up inside. Kept me from running Ross Industries.” She leaned forward on the podium and lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “But can I tell you all a secret?”
She had them. The media, the whole moronic, parasitic lot of them always wanted to know a secret. She could see it in their eyes. In the way they all unconsciously leaned forward just a touch. Some were even nodding. It would be this way all over the nation when this interview was broadcast. Everyone wanted to know the moral of this story.
“What helps me deal with my husband’s death is thinking that maybe, just maybe, Ted was that final catalyst that made the Human Shield into what he is today. How many lives has that man saved in the last eighteen months since he discovered his path? Dozens? Hundreds?” Eager nods everywhere.
“How many times has the Human Shield died for the people he has been protecting?” Kennedy continued. “And yet he comes back like the proverbial phoenix to save another life. And then another. All of that? All of that is because of my husband’s sacrifice.”
She looked back again at the statue of Ted, in the pose of man awkwardly accepting praise: head slightly down, a genuine smile on his face, one hand on his hip, and the other behind his head. It looked just like him. That had been the artist’s gift. While some could fly, or die and come back to life…the commissioned artist could make any piece of art look extraordinarily life-like. Kennedy wished she could study it more thoroughly.
Maybe later…
Another among the press raised a hand. “Yes? It’s Allison James, correct? From the Port Haven Proclaimer?”
“Oh, uh, yes.” Allison was still new to this line of work. Kennedy waited for the reporter to adjust her glasses and tuck her hair behind her ear, all before clearing her throat to ask her question. It was the reporter’s habit. A small one, Kennedy allowed, but a habit nonetheless.
“Mrs. Ross, now that you are, uh, back running Ross Industries full-time, have you given any thought to putting your company’s vast resources into the research of the, uh, ever growing population that are developing powers? Also, can you talk about the rumors circulating that
Ross Industries recently acquired a controlling share of Biotiq?”
“To answer your first question about the chimerics, Ross Industries is currently occupied by seeking out advancements in the medical arena,” Kennedy replied. “However, in the event that those two areas overlap, we will certainly be involved. As for the rumors surrounding Ross Industries and Biotiq, we are largely philanthropic, while Biotiq is known for questionable business practices when it comes to chimeric research. I have time for one more question. Yes, Miss—?”
“Mrs. Ross,” Albert Tanner interrupted. “Do you feel adequate to run Ross Industries? There are rumors going around that the board of directors are looking to remove you as the CEO. In fact, it is said that Peter Farnsworthy, the Chairman of the Board of Ross Industries, is doing his best to make sure you never make another decision at the company again. Care to comment?”
Kennedy Ross smiled at the insufferable little idiot. “I normally don’t comment on moronic speculation, but in this case, I’ll make an exception.
“Since you have decided to tastelessly question my leadership at the statue unveiling of my late husband—though I suppose I should have expected it, Al, given your historically poor level of reporting—I’ll tell you right now that you are flat-out wrong. Not only wrong, but embarrassingly misinformed. The Board has the utmost confidence in me. So much so that they voted out Peter Farnsworthy as Chairman this morning. Were you aware of that, Al?”
“Uh…no…I didn’t know…I assumed…”
“You assumed incorrectly. It is your pattern. Now, I’m afraid that’s all the time I have today. Thank you all for coming here to celebrate the life of my wonderful husband. He would have been humbled, just as I am.”
Kennedy smiled at the rest of the reporters, many of which were grinning. They all loved to see their counterparts taken down.
So predictable.
#
The limo pulled to the front of Kennedy’s home, and the driver exited the car and moved around to open her door for her. She stood and stretched. The last few days since the statue ceremony had been exhausting, yet fruitful.
“Will you need anything else today, Mrs. Ross?”
“No, Jim. But thank you. I’ll be staying in the rest of the day and evening. You can go home for the night.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ross. I saw you on the news. The ceremony for Mr. Ross.”
“Oh? How’d I do?”
Jim grinned at her. “You gave that idiot from the Herald the what-for.”
She feigned a wince. “Was it too much? I wonder if I was out of line.”
“No, Mrs. Ross. He deserved it. I hear he was so embarrassed by your words that he quit the Herald and skipped town.”
“Did he now? Well, can’t say I’ll miss him. You take care, Jim. Tell your wife, Emily, I said hello and that I love the sugar cookies she made for me. They were absolutely perfect!”
“Will do. That will please her. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Ross.”
Kennedy watched her driver, making sure he had completely left the property before she went inside. Jim was a good man. Dependable. He’d been with the family for the better part of three years. And those cookies… Kennedy licked her lips. She was pretty sure there were still a couple left from the batch Jim’s wife had delivered the day of the ceremony.
She turned and went inside, careful to lock the door behind her. She looked down at her elegant business suit. It truly was lovely. She knew she should change it to avoid getting it irreparably dirty, but she was too anxious to delay any longer.
Kennedy had matters to attend to.
Briskly, she walked to her study. It was fairly ordinary, with the requisite book shelves, chairs, and lamps. Her desk was expensive, but simple looking. All as people would expect should they walk into the room. Sensors imbedded in the walls scanned her features, took samples of her breath and the DNA in her perspiration.
“Verification: Epsilon Psi Iota Lambda Omega Gamma Upsilon Epsilon.”
The sound of a low chime registered as the sensors accepted her voice print and authorization code. Shutters closed down over the windows, blocking out light and any potential method for seeing into the room. The room was already soundproofed to prevent any eavesdropping.
Once the shutters had blacked out the room, internal lights slowly came online, elevating to Kennedy’s preferred brightness. As the same time, the hiss of air announced the unsealing of the passageway opening behind the set of bookshelves behind the desk. They moved smoothly to the sides, revealing a passageway down to a basement unmarked on any of the mansion’s blueprints. It was cliché, but she had loved the idea of a secret passage in the study since she had been a child. She crossed the room to the stairwell, pausing at her desk to take the sole remaining cookie from the plate there. She ate it in two bites. Emily was indeed an amazing baker. Kennedy resolved to offer the other woman a position as her cook again. Jim’s wife had refused before, but perhaps the offer hadn’t been made in the…correct way.
She took the steps in measured fashion. She was anxious, yes, but it wouldn’t do to hurry and fall, breaking her neck. Behind her, the bookcases slid closed. Lights at the base of each step made the descent simple. At the bottom of the stairway, a metal door swung open soundlessly.
The room beyond was expansive, and the impression was made even more so by the lack of furnishings. Kennedy had long since removed much of the furniture and other trappings. They were simply too hard to keep clean under the…circumstances.
The room had originally been built by her husband as a place he could tinker with his eclectic projects and inventions. The room also contained live feeds from thousands of cameras inside the various corporate holdings of Ross Industries. The inventions had largely amounted to nothing more than an expensive hobby for Ted. However, his obsession with surveillance had given Kennedy an idea, and a method for watching these so-called “heroes” running around the world.
A bank of monitors lined the wall to her right, all of them coming to life to display different scenes from across the country and the globe. Wires hung down from them, all feeding into various servers that recorded everything. Another set of wires fed from the monitors into a completely different apparatus.
The cords snaked down the walls and across the floor to a chair holding an emaciated man. His name was Rick Charon, and his ability allowed him to locate anyone who had the chimeric DNA. The cabling ran up the chair to the back and top of Rick’s head, where their ends disappeared into holes she had drilled into his skull.
One of Ted’s longest running experiments had been an effort to tap into the human mind to prevent or instigate corporate espionage. He’d been too conservative to experiment on actual humans, but he’d stumbled on a modicum of success seeing into the minds of animals.
After his death…well…Kennedy hadn’t felt very conservative.
Finding the correct chimeric had been a chore. The research. The false leads. But with Ross Industries, her funds were virtually limitless. It took months. Once she had determined that Rick was indeed the correct individual, luring him to her home had been shockingly easy. A chance meeting in a nightclub. Some bright red lipstick and a low-cut dress.
And here he sat—her eyes spying into the world.
The pictures his mind generated had taken some getting used to. They reminded Kennedy of moving Japanese brush drawings, fluid and all in black and white. Until, that is, Rick found someone with the proper DNA. Those images came through like a masterwork oil painting.
Kennedy had Rick—he hadn’t come up with a clever name for himself before she’d taken him—keeping any eye on the chimerics getting publicity. Through Rick’s unique vision, she’d been witness to the Red Wraith’s killing, a well-placed bullet to the head as he crushed that old sniper’s heart. It had been a decent show, although brief. She’d also enjoyed watching the death of the Wisp, murdered by the jealous, skull-masked Monger who was, in turn, taken down by a
chimeric goth girl. She remembered watching Tantrum’s rampage through La Futura with a flutter in her breast. Oh, that one had been a treat! Kennedy had even made popcorn.
But those were all mere research.
Mainly, she had Rick keep his mind focused on one, special chimeric.
“Rick, darling,” she whispered into his ear. Kennedy caressed his cheeks, and she saw his pupils expand and dilate. She’d learned that meant he was listening. She leaned over to a medical cart parked next to his chair and selected a syringe marked NOCTIS.
The drug had originally developed by Ross Industries to help American soldiers in the various sleep study programs at military bases throughout the country. While it had shown promise on animals, the drug had caused massive and deadly spikes in brain activity in humans. Most of the human subjects—whose deaths had been quietly swept under the proverbial rug—survived the early, low doses, but immediately developed an overwhelming addiction. NOCTIS eventually burned out their brains.
But for Rick, NOCTIS enhanced his ability without damaging his brain. And the addiction was easy to exploit.
“Darling,” she repeated. “I need you to look up the Human Shield. You know who I mean. I have some NOCTIS for you if you can do it.”
His pupils shifted rapidly, then expanded until the irises were hardly visible. The screen shifted, and the oil painting image of the Human Shield filled the displays.
The Human Shield.
The one she wanted dead more than anyone anywhere. He saved others, yet couldn’t save her husband.
Since acquiring Rick, she had hunted down the Human Shield dozens of times. Each of those times she had orchestrated his ‘death.’ Every idiot politician, if threatened, hired the Human Shield. It was so predictable.
She’d burned the Human Shield alive. Drowned him. Shot him. Decapitated him. Eviscerated him. Hung him upside-down and cut his throat, letting all the blood drain from him. Detonated an IED next to him. Run a piece of rebar through his eye, and out the back of his head.
He never stayed dead. In a very real way, Kennedy realized she was a serial killer. A serial killer of this one chimeric who death refused to take. She consoled herself in the knowledge that the Human Shield remembered all those deaths, and he was rumored to be borderline insane.
