Corpies (Super Powereds Spinoff Book 1)

by Drew Hayes

  He trudged through his home, a one-bedroom apartment next door to his office, heading toward the door. Lenny could certainly afford better. One didn’t get to be as renowned as he was without squirreling away a good nest egg, after all. But that was for when he retired. Lenny lived and breathed the job; you had to if you wanted to be good at it. The closest thing he’d had to a vacation in the last decade was when he went to the coast to bail one of his clients out of a drunken indecent exposure charge.

  The knocking ceased as Lenny pulled open the door, revealing the mountainous form of Owen holding a twelve-pack.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Wipe your feet.” Lenny trudged back in, heading for the kitchen. He heard the door close behind him as he reached into the fridge and pulled out one of the frozen coffee drinks his doctor said was bad for his stomach lining. “Tough shit, Doc,” he muttered as he downed the frosty concoction. That done, Lenny walked back into the living room.

  “So, I take it things are bad.” He’d known Owen long enough to skip the preamble. The big lug was bothered about something, and Lenny was the only person he felt he could talk to. That in itself pretty much spoke to the problem: he wasn’t getting on well with his new team, else he’d have been talking to them.

  “They’re not great.” Owen cracked open a beer and took a lengthy sip. His body had long ago lost the ability to be affected by alcohol; that didn’t mean he didn’t find enjoyment in the flavor, though. “Looks like I’ve alienated my team by acting like I’m better than them, one member seems to have hated me before I walked in the door, and I managed to catch the eye of Elemental Fury’s leader, Gale. She seems to think I’m here to cause waves and might just make it her goal to be a pain in my ass.”

  “That is pretty damned not great,” Lenny agreed. He reached over and pulled a beer free from the case. If the man was going to barge into his home at almost midnight, the least he could do was share his drinks. “Not great, but not unmanageable either. Gale is a righteous bitch if she suspects someone of making trouble; however, she’s one of the best people to have in your corner if she trusts you.”

  “One of your clients?”

  “No, though I manage Birdsman and Granite, two people on her team. I’m involved enough to get a sense of her. Lady’s got a lot of pressure on her to perform, and Brewster has been growing more active with criminal Supers over the last few years. Once she sees you’re genuinely trying to help, she’ll back off. Until then, just keep your temper in check and try to keep the dick-measuring to a minimum.”

  “Might be tough; she invited me over to do an ability assessment.”

  Lenny held in the exasperated sigh that might have escaped from an individual less tenured in his role. Ability assessments were officially used by Heroes when they were looking to work with someone and needed to know exactly what that person was capable of. Unofficially, they were a great way to put rookies in their place or settle grudges of which Super was more powerful. Heroes were good folk, but that much power and training definitely resulted in equally superhuman egos.

  “Did you agree?”

  “Sort of. I said I would do it when schedules aligned, so I bought some time at least.” Owen gave a wide-shouldered shrug.

  “It’ll have to be enough. Let me try and finagle a few things. Until you hear from me, focus on your real problem: the team.”

  “That’s the one I’m most clueless about,” Owen admitted. “I know I’m pissing them off by acting like I’m better than them, but the thing is, that I am better. I’ve got more power, more training, and more experience, even with my time away from the life. They’re good kids, and I respect Galvanize’s attitude, but at the end of the day we exist on totally different levels. I have no idea how to make that gap disappear, and if I try to fake it, I’m pretty certain they’ll hate me even more.”

  “No, don’t fake it,” Lenny advised. “These folks already get shit on by Heroes who see them as sell-out wannabes. If you start acting fake they’ll think it means you’ve decided to placate them like children.”

  “Then what’s my other option?”

  “Tell them the truth,” Lenny replied. “Meet it head-on like you would any other challenge. Let them know you’re having trouble fitting in like you told me, except maybe don’t be quite such a dick about it. Then, and this is key, realize what a fucking schmuck you’re being.”

  “Schmuck?”

  “Titan, you’re a great Hero and an all-around unstoppable guy. No one could do your job like you,” Lenny said. He ran his hand through the wisps of hair that remained on his bald head; this part would require careful wording.

  “Thank-”

  “But do you think you could do my job?”

  “Be an agent?”

  “Yes, be an agent. Handle PR disasters, coach rookies how to deal with the spotlight, wake up to console grown men who show up with beer in the middle of the night. Do you think you could do my job better than I do?” Lenny was wide awake now, locking eyes with the man who could kill him in a single motion and refusing to blink.

  “Of course not. I mean, you’re Lenny.”

  “Good, there is a bit of humility left in that skull of yours.” Lenny let the staring contest lapse and leaned back into his chair. “Titan, you’re a fucking beast of a Hero; never let anyone tell you different. Thing is, your job is not to be a Hero: not with this team. Your job is to be their liaison. And you kind of suck at that job. Being a good Hero is a wonderful achievement, but it doesn’t automatically make you the best at everything. It just means when a Super needs putting down, you’re the guy we call. If you need an agent, you call me, and if your toilet won’t flush, you call a plumber. None of us is inherently better; some jobs are just more prestigious.”

  “I get it: just because I’m good at my job doesn’t mean I’m better at theirs.” Owen had the sense to look at least somewhat ashamed.

  “You’re damn right. So, my advice to you is to get to know these people, find out all the areas where they can smoke your ass. Learn to respect them, because they deserve it, and the rest of your problems will solve themselves.”

  “Thanks, Lenny. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Owen stood up to go, reaching for his beer.

  “Leave the case,” Lenny instructed. “That’s quality stuff and I have some new clients coming by tomorrow that I’d like to woo.”

  “Your midnight consultation rates have gone up,” Owen said.

  “Economy’s a bitch,” Lenny replied. “Now go home and sleep. You’re going to need your rest, because you’ve got a lot of crow to eat in the morning.”

  15.

  When Hexcellent walked into the living room the next morning, she was struck with a smell that was foreign and familiar all at once. She’d been with Mordent Holdings as a PEERS for over two years, subject to their rules, restrictions, and endless examinations. One aspect of that included a carefully controlled and monitored diet to ensure that everyone on the team looked camera-ready at all times. This meant that in her time doing the job she'd somehow managed to forget this heavenly aroma’s source as a result of scarcity. This morning, though, the memory came flooding back as she witnessed Titan add his latest batch of flapjacks to an already sizable stack.

  “Morning,” he greeted. “I made pancakes.” He was dressed in sweats again, though this time they were topped with a cream-colored apron what was far too small for him. This was no surprise; Hexcellent recognized it from their linen closet. It was a communal apron they used when cooking, and no one else on the team had the same proportions as Titan.

  “Galvanize is going to fucking shit when he sees those,” Hexcellent said, walking over to examine Titan’s culinary efforts. She was clad in a black tanktop and silk pajama pants with silver spiderwebs stitched across the legs, attire demonstrating her intention of lazing about for as long as she was able.

  “Why am I going to shit?” Galvanize stepped in from the hallway. Unlike the other two, he was fully dressed
for the day. “And what’s that smell?”

  “Pancakes,” Zone told him. He and Bubble Bubble were directly behind Galvanize; evidently the trio had just finished something and were coming toward the kitchen together.

  Galvanize frowned, the expression strange on his perpetually positive face. “Titan, we can’t have pancakes. They aren’t on the approved dietary restriction list.”

  “These are. They’re some sort of hippie-whole-grain-low-gluten-low-taste-clusterfuck, but they pass the bar for acceptable breakfast. I even checked it out with Greene first.”

  “That was. . . quite kind of you.” Galvanize headed over, with Bubble Bubble trailing close behind. Zone took his own time in crossing the room.

  “It wouldn’t have been much of an apology if I made you something you couldn’t eat. And that’s what these are: apology pancakes. Last night I went for a walk and did a lot of thinking. What I ended up with was the realization that Zone was right: I have been thinking that I’m better than you four, which is stupid. You kids, sorry, you four do a damn respectable job and I’ve got no right putting myself above you just because we have different career histories.”

  “Nice words,” Zone said. “But they don’t mean shit without action.”

  “Zone, control yourself,” Galvanize chided. “Our teammate just gave an honest apology and is trying to make amends. That is not the sort of thing we stomp down, regardless of our personal feelings.”

  “Let it go. I think Zone and I are going to have to square on some different issues sooner or later.” The last of the pancakes were pulled from the griddle and slid onto a waiting plate already piled high. “But he’s dead-right about words meaning nothing without action. Which is why I'd like you all to know something: my real name is Owen Daniels.”

  Zone’s mouth had already been open, ready to snap something at him, but the words rotted on his tongue. Revealing one’s name was far more personal than a face. Faces were changeable and concealable; names were dangerous. Names opened the door to research, to history, to learning everything there was to know about a person. It was widely regarded as fact that the only people Heroes shared their real names with were their families and their teams.

  “Tit- Owen, that gesture means the world to us,” Galvanize said. “Truly, it does.”

  “It’s just a name,” Owen replied. “The pancakes are the good gesture, or as good as this healthy stuff can be. I already stuck some of those juices you stock and chunks of fruit on the table. I thought we could all have a team breakfast, then move on to the next part of my efforts to stop acting like a prick.”

  “More than healthy pancakes and name-dropping? Sir, you do us too much honor,” Hexcellent said. Despite her words, she did come over and help him with two of the pancakes-bearing plates.

  “What can I say? I’m a giver by nature.” Foul-mouthed and strange way of dress aside, Owen enjoyed his gothy teammate. She had the sort of spitfire nature he’d always been fond of. Hell, he’d liked one woman with it so much he’d managed to convince himself he loved her enough to marry.

  “So what’s the plan then?” Bubble Bubble took her seat at the table, piling her plate with mostly fruits and veggies alongside a single pancake.

  “That’s up to you four,” Owen said, putting far more than one pancake on his plate. Health-assurances aside, he suspected the bulk of the eating would fall on his ample shoulders. “I want to learn about each of you, understand how everyone works on their own as well as on our team. I don’t even know what your jobs entail outside of actual response work, and that’s something that needs rectifying.”

  “Sounds like setting you up for a shadow day is the best option,” Galvanize said. “Unfortunately, today I’ve got a debrief meeting about yesterday’s fire. Even if I thought it would be educating, only the team’s leader is allowed to attend. Bubble Bubble, how about you?”

  “Photoshoot. He’s welcome to tag along, but it’s just going to be posing for five or six hours.”

  “Let’s call that our last resort,” Galvanize said. He looked over at Zone, who was silently stuffing food into his mouth while purposely avoiding any eye contact with Owen. Had he been only a tenth of the leader he was, Galvanize would still have seen that situation for the train wreck it represented. Instead, he turned his gaze to the girl with ink-bottle black hair. “Hexcellent, what have you got today?”

  “Decent assortment,” she replied, mouth half-full of berries and pancake. “Doing a store promo, then a mini-photo-shoot with Spyda, plus a small branding meeting. All that paired with the usual shit, of course.”

  “Of course. Well, Titan, if you really want to learn more about what we do when not saving people, I think Hexcellent is your best shot today. That work for you?”

  “If she doesn’t mind, I’d love to tag along,” Owen said.

  “Fine by me,” Hexcellent replied. “It’ll be nice to have someone to carry my bags other than Big Henry. He scratches up damn near everything he touches.”

  16.

  Owen was surprised to find a car waiting for him and Hexcellent. They’d finished breakfast and gotten into their respective costumes, then headed down to the street level. Hexcellent walked without pause to a dark sedan idling at the curb.

  “You don’t drive?”

  “Company policy,” Hexcellent sighed. “Two years ago one of their former PEERS got into a fender-bender with some old lady. She developed back problems, went after him and Mordent in court, and generally drummed up a lot of bad press, not to mention drained some cash out of their pockets. Now we’re only allowed to use a car service, unless we’re driving to an actual response in the approved vehicle. Keeps us from being liable.”

  “Also keeps you from going anywhere they don’t know about,” Owen added.

  “For a guy whose whole career is built on having Armageddon-level muscles, you’re pretty quick on the uptake.” Hexcellent climbed into the back seat, followed by her massive coworker, and the car maneuvered back into traffic.

  “I’m actually not Armageddon,” Owen told her once they were buckled up. Laws were laws, even if he was effectively invulnerable. The minute a Hero began to think he was above them was the same moment his downfall began.

  “Really? I thought you were this legendary dude with impossible strength.”

  “I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s pretty much impossible for a strongman to be considered an Armageddon Class threat. We just don’t have the damage capacity.”

  Hexcellent cocked her head to the side; today’s blasting of makeup made her look like a somewhat befuddled bat. “Damage? Isn’t the rating system like a power-level thing?”

  “No, but a lot of people mistake it for that, even some Heroes.” Owen tried to cross his legs in an effort to find a more comfortable position, but this only resulted in him slightly bending the window lever. “People have tried putting a level system in place plenty of times, actually, it just never holds up. First off, we’re always learning about new people and powers that make us rethink things in terms of scale. Plus, it always goes to shit in that lots of powers negate or overwhelm each other. For example, a good telekinetic can knock most strongmen out of a battle by lifting them off the ground, even if the strongman would be rated higher in terms of raw power.”

  “You’re explaining to me how there’s no level system to help me understand the level system,” Hexcellent pointed out. “I’ve got some old Algebra teachers you’d fit in just great with.”

  “Sorry, I just wanted to show why measuring Supers by level doesn’t work. What you can measure, regardless of their power, is their capacity for destruction. As I recall, the default rule is it’s how much damage a Super could do if left unchecked for an hour.”

  “Sounds sort of morbid, and that’s coming from a girl wearing zombie-themed lipstick.”

  Owen nodded. “You won’t hear me disagreeing. It serves a purpose, though: knowing someone’s class tells you how dangerous they are. It informs on how
we prioritize protecting civilians, minimizing property damage, and escalating force. There’s minimal need to try to cripple or kill a Standard Class threat if subduing is an option.”

  “What if they’re higher up the chain?”

  “Then we do what has to be done. No Hero, at least none that lasts, enjoys that part of the job. But if we don’t stop them, innocent people will die. Personally, I always try to subdue or de-escalate first for anything below Armageddon Class. Bear in mind, my power gives me that as an option. Others aren’t so lucky.”

  “Jesus, and here I thought all you people did was pick kittens out of trees and foil bank heists.” Hexcellent’s eyes were wide, creating a strange contrast between the whites of her sclera and the ink-black of her makeup.

  “PR departments try to de-emphasize that aspect of the job, same as with cops. It might be necessary, but that doesn’t mean people like to think about it.”

  “No shit.” Hexcellent turned to look out the window for a bit, watching the buildings roll by. “So what are these classes, then? Like, where would I fit in?”

  “You’d be a Standard Class,” Owen replied. “Most Supers are. It means you can do some significant damage and are a danger to life; however, you’re not a threat to a large-scale area.”

  “Great, I’m lowest rung.”

  “Actually, that would be the NTC Class. It stands for Non-Threatening Combatant, though we just call them ‘knocks’ for short. That nickname comes from the fact that one little tap to the head can usually bring them down. They’re Supers whose abilities are in no way dangerous, meaning they have the same propensity for damage as a regular human. Healers, people with low-caliber display abilities, that sort of thing.”

  “But Healers become Heroes, they can’t be that weak,” Hexcellent said.

  “It’s not about weak or strong, just about immediate destructive potential,” Owen reminded her.