by Drew Hayes
Corpies
by Drew Hayes
Edited by Erin Cooley ([email protected])
Cover by Barry Behannon (barrybartist.com)
Copyright © 2016 by Andrew Hayes
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
This book is for my dad, Lee Hayes. While he might not have a lot in common with Owen Daniels, to me he will always be as strong as Titan.
Special thanks as well to my beta readers, who made this novel better than it could have possibly been without their help. Thanks Priscilla Yuen, E Ramos E, and TheSFReader.
Wait!!!
Hang on a second, you awesome reader, you. I know you’re excited to get in to the book that you just purchased (or are inquisitively sampling), but there’s a bit of context you need to know before moving forward.
First and foremost, you need to be aware that this book, Corpies, is a spin-off of my Super Powereds series. Now, while you will still be able to enjoy the tale even if you haven’t read those other stories, you should be aware that there will be references to people and places that seem random but are in fact pointing back to the Super Powereds series. Just something to take the burden off your mind, assuming you panic that you missed chapters when you see stuff like that (like I do).
Secondly (and this part is really only relevant if you do read the Super Powereds series), this story occurs during the events of Super Powereds: Year 3, starting after the Lander HCP semester has begun and wrapping up a while before Intramurals. That’s why there might be some allusions to impending things that you, as a caught-up reader, know have already occurred.
Lastly, though this has no bearing on the spin-off stuff, I just want to say thanks for picking up Corpies. Despite starting as a tentative Web serial side-project, this book has grown in to one of my favorites to work on over the years. I appreciate you taking a chance on it, and I sincerely hope you enjoy.
Prologue
Owen sat in one of the waiting room’s many reinforced chairs and flipped through an old Capes & Cowls magazine. It detailed the rise of one of the latest crops of Heroes, fresh off their internships and making quite a splash in the world. Their costumes were crisp, their dialogue concise, their images squeaky clean. These were the kind of wholesome, homespun, moral warriors that would take the lead in creating a new world, free of immorality. These were the kind of Heroes the world needed more of: or at least that’s the idea the reporter espoused.
It would have been vastly more impressive if Owen didn’t know that two of the featured four were already dead. He’d heard one was in rehab upstate, and though the final member was still active, she wasn’t quite so eager or wholesome anymore. She certainly didn’t schedule in time for op-ed pieces with interviewers. Now she just focused on getting the job done. That was the trouble with old magazines. Media darlings rarely lived up to their initial hype, and for the ones who did, the eventual fall just became all the more catastrophic.
Owen had just set the magazine down when the door a few feet away flew open. A muscular man younger than Owen stepped out. He wore a bright red costume with yellow trim, a matching mask, and a cape that fell to just above his calves. Owen hoped this kid was a flier or a strongman, otherwise someone was going to make him regret that fluttering fashion choice. A couple of steps behind the costumed kid was another man, this one older, shorter, and sporting a significant paunch instead of a body rippling with muscle.
“Don’t worry about a thing; you just go on home and relax,” the smaller man assured the larger. “We’ll get this whole mess cleaned up and fixed before you can say Bam Piff Zow.”
The costumed Hero nodded his head and set off through the waiting room. His gaze lingered on Owen for a moment, the spark of recognition flickering through his eyes almost immediately dismissed. No way. Couldn’t be Him. Must be a new guy who was a fan, paying homage with the outfit. He walked through the door without another glance; this man had more worrisome things on the brain.
“Good to see you, Lenny.” Owen rose from the chair and towered over the smaller man. From here he could see Lenny’s prominent bald spot. A different person might have gone for a toupee or a comb-over, or tried some radical drug to fix such vain failings. Not Lenny. He spent every day around people who were physically superior to him; if his ego were wrapped up in his looks, it would have hanged itself long ago.
“My stars, look at you,” Lenny muttered, taking in the massive form looming over him. He’d have almost sworn it was a few decades ago and this was the same fresh-faced newbie who was hot out of the HCP. Same chiseled frame, same red shirt and jeans, same dark wavy hair, same bright mask. The most notable differences were under the mask, though: a crooked smile that wasn’t as carefree, the stubble of a working man who didn’t have time to shave, tired green eyes that lacked the luster and hope of a new Hero. That might have worried others in Lenny’s field, but personally, he preferred his clients with the shine wiped off. They’d learned they weren’t invincible, and they made smarter choices because of that.
“Genetics is bullshit,” Lenny said at last. “I bet you don’t even have to watch what you eat.”
“Not really, no.”
“Hell, my doctor has me eating whole wheat and cheese curd every day for breakfast. Do you know what it takes to make that crap taste good?”
“No, what?”
“Damned if I have a clue, I was genuinely asking. Enough jawing in the waiting room; let’s go to the office.”
It was strangely comforting how little Lenny’s office had changed since Owen left the Hero world. The tacky décor, the oversized filing cabinets, the weathered globe that turned into a bar when you swiveled it, all of it was still there. What had changed were the posters on the walls. Lenny always kept his brightest stars up, the hot tickets constantly on display so that everyone who came in knew the kind of clientele this man catered to. A few of the posters were even framed. These were the ones that weren’t coming down, the Heroes Lenny considered “legendary”. Owen only knew of one framed poster Lenny had taken off the wall, and he didn’t hold it against the smaller man one bit.
“So,” Lenny said once he was situated behind his desk. “You want to come back to The Life.”
Owen smiled; he’d forgotten the way Lenny referred to working the Hero scene. The Life. It was actually a pretty apt phrasing. Being a Hero wasn’t a nine-to-five; it dominated every aspect of who someone was. Even the parts they might wish it didn’t.
“Yeah. I do.”
Lenny ran a hand through his ever-thinning hair. “Listen, Titan, you know I never held the whole fiasco against you. Shit happens. If it didn’t, I’d likely be out of a job. That said, time does not heal all wounds as far as public perception is concerned.”
Owen appreciated Lenny trying to be diplomatic, skirting the details and not outright referring to what had happened as The Titan Scandal, as it had gone down in history. Still, it was an unnecessary nicety. They both knew what had happened, as did a vast majority of the nation, if not the world. Titan, the world-famous Hero with a family man image, had been caught by a hidden camera having sex with another Hero. Bad as that might have been on its own, what had compounded the issue was the fact that Titan’s pa
rtner in the scandal, Tower, wasn’t female. Infidelity was one thing, but closeted homosexuality, especially in those days. . . it had led to a fall from grace that was more akin to a plummet. What little of the Titan reputation that remained was almost entirely due to the effort of Lenny.
Heroes didn’t need agents, technically speaking, any more than a cook needs butter to create a nutritionally-sound meal. However, most quickly found out that having a job in the public eye led to a lot of pressure, and people like Lenny made everything flow a lot more smoothly. He was a confidant, a fixer, a PR virtuoso, and a damage control specialist all heaped into a single roly-poly package. Still, even Lenny had his limits, as Owen had learned firsthand.
“That’s okay. I know I’m not going to be walking back to a warm reception.”
“You always did have a knack for understatement,” Lenny said. “They’ll come after you hard. A lot of people took what happened really personally, and there is nothing they’d love more than a chance to tear you apart.”
“I know. Believe me, Lenny, no one knows better than me how hated I am.”
“If only you were just hated. Hated I can work with. We play you as a gruff counterpart to some guy whose image can tolerate it, do a turnaround over time, and presto, you’re golden again. No, you’re hated and held up as an icon by different groups. That gets people fighting—bickering, really—about some deeply-held beliefs. When you’ve got one man with two different images you can’t shift one without impacting the other.”
“I can deal with that.”
“Of course you can, you’re fucking Titan. But not so long ago this was enough to make you hang up the mask. Thankfully, your certification never expires, but getting you relicensed for Hero work will be a bear after so long, not to mention the headaches I’ll get once the media gets a hold of it. Now, we go way back, and I like you, so that’s shit I’m willing to wade through. But only if you can convince me that I won’t do it only to see you walk off again three months later. What’s changed?”
Owen sat silently for a few moments, his giant frame hunched in on itself. “My sons came to see me a few months ago.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. This stays quiet, Lenny, dead quiet, because if you think I’m a PR shitstorm you have no idea what kind of hellhole they would open. Roy and Hershel are in the HCP themselves now and doing pretty good, from what I hear. “
“I didn’t think the HCP took Powereds.”
“They don’t.”
“Ho-lee-shit.” Lenny turned and popped open his bar, poured himself a healthy measure of vodka over ice, and motioned for his prospective client to continue.
“Anyway, Roy was having trouble getting his ability to the next step, so Hershel hunted me down. I took a week, got them on the right path, then asked them to keep in touch. I’ll spare you the finer points of the conversation, but they essentially told me to go fuck myself.”
“Look, hurt feelings can run deep, especially at that age.”
“See, that’s the thing, Lenny. I don’t think they were just hurt. I think they were right. Why should either one want to talk to me? Why should they care? I walked out on their mother and them; reasons be damned, I still did it. I could have made more of an effort. I could have tried to stay in some part of their life. I fucked up. I let my own shit get in the way of people who needed me. That’s a hard truth to accept, but I faced it. Unfortunately, that was when it occurred to me I had only scratched the surface on people I abandoned.”
Lenny could already see where this was going. “Titan, come on; you’re strong, but there’re other Heroes on the job.”
“It isn’t about that, Lenny. It’s about the fact that I could be out there, I could be helping people and making a difference, and instead I holed up in Colorado to lick my wounds. I missed out on the opportunity to be a real father, and I know I’m never going to be an A-list Hero from a popularity point of view, but I think it’s time I stopped running away. I’m a strongman. We hit and we get hit. It’s time for me to finally shake off that last one and start moving again.”
Lenny sighed. “Shit, Titan. Why couldn’t you give those kinds of speeches back in the day? I could have made you freaking king of the Heroes if you tugged the heart strings on command.”
“What can you do now?”
“I can make a few calls,” Lenny said slowly. “No promises, just a few calls. For an old friend. A favor, if you want it.”
Owen gave him a smile, and for an instant Lenny was staring through time at the enthusiastic kid he’d first signed so very long ago.
“I’ll take it.”
1.
Two Months Later
“You’re sure about this?” Lenny asked for somewhere around the ninth time, if Owen’s count was correct. “That’s the beauty of living behind a mask and a costume. Change those elements up and Poof! New Hero. It takes a little wiggling here and there, especially with guys of your proportions, but it’s nothing I can’t pull off.”
Owen shook his head solemnly. They were in Lenny’s office, cheesy decor surrounding the two very different men. Owen was suited up in his Titan costume, red shirt, red mask, and blue jeans all wrapped around nearly seven feet of solid muscle. As strong as he looked, he was actually far more powerful. Lenny, on the other hand, was still round and balding with a nose that looked like he’d tried to win a few boxing bouts by attacking his opponent’s fists with his face. Still, there was more than a touch of smarts and charisma in that foul-mouthed cherub’s eyes. Both were masters of their respective trades, though one had been out of the game for a long while.
“I’m not changing identities,” Owen said. “I’m coming back as Titan. If I don’t, then I feel like I’m still running. It might not make sense to you, but this is how I have to do it.”
Lenny ran his hand across the top of his head, touching more skin than hair by a large margin. Habits didn’t die easily, though, even if follicles did. “I was afraid you were going to say that. You know that makes things harder, right? The other way would open up a lot more options.”
“The options for going at it the right way are the ones I want,” Owen insisted.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lenny slid a manila envelope across the desk to his client. “Even with your license reinstated, there weren’t a lot of people clamoring to have you on their team. You come with more heat than most folks are willing to take.”
“Solo Heroes exist,” Owen said.
“Not for you they don’t,” Lenny countered. “We let you go solo and that’s how you’ll be until the end. You’ll look like an outcast, the guy that no one wanted after his scandal. People like me will use your story as a cautionary tale to keep younger Heroes in line.”
“But no one does want me,” Owen pointed out.
“Why would you bring that up? My ulcer isn’t bad enough this week without you reminding me what we’re trying to pull off here? You’re a hurtful man and you should be ashamed,” Lenny chastised. “Besides which, you’re wrong. The team in that folder agreed to take you, so at least some people want you.”
Owen took the clue to flip open the folder. As soon as he began reading, a frown formed at the corner of his mouth, visible just below the bottom of his skintight mask. The frown deepened the longer he read, until finally his gaze rose from the pages and across the desk to his agent.
“Corpies? Are you shitting me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did my months of trying to impress upon you how few your options were not provide a slight clue that you were getting the bottom of the shit-bucket? And don’t call them that. The technical term is Privately Employed Emergency Response Supers, or PEERS if you don’t have all day.”
“Come on, Lenny, these people aren’t even Heroes.” Owen dropped the file onto the desk. “Why would I be on a team of corpies?”
Try as he might, Owen couldn’t imagine what sort of justification Lenny would use for this proposal. Corpies were Supers who hadn’t gone through t
he screening or training to get their Hero Certifications and therefore were not allowed to confront criminal Supers. However, through some loophole maneuvering and fancy legal footwork, it had been established that a Super did not need a Hero Certification to assist in any emergency response operation that didn’t involve combat. This charge was led by corporations that yearned to get their logos emblazoned on the capes of champions doing good, saving innocents, and spreading the word about how this particular laundry soap got your whites the whitest. Rarely did a corpie attain any real popularity; however, the few times they had gotten a following had been so profitable that companies eagerly rolled the dice and kept right on paying to keep their names on Supers. Though many Heroes considered them worthless hacks who couldn’t cut it in the Hero game, the fact remained that having them on hand usually did more good than harm, so their continued existence was tolerated with minor grumbling. But that didn’t mean Owen wanted to babysit a damn group of them.
“Why? Because in order for them to function as an independent team, working in their own fancy headquarters, responding to various disasters and calls, they have to have a Hero Liaison on staff. Someone to bat cleanup if things get messy or trouble shows up. This team, as luck would have it, just lost their Hero to retirement. No others are stepping forward, so they either had to take you on or go back to working in the basement of a police station where the lights don’t work and it smells like piss. Those were their options: piss smell or you.”
“But-”
“AND,” Lenny said, raising his voice and rising slightly off his chair, “I had to wheel and deal to make it happen. It was you and a luxury high-rise loft, or no you and a dank piss-scented basement, and I had to convince them to take you. Are you getting the picture here?”
