by Lucas Flint
As a result, Munroe Acquisitions had been forced to fire the marketing director who had come up with the entire plan in the first place. Said marketing director got arrested shortly afterward and would soon be sharing a cell with Barriers in Golden City Penitentiary, last I heard. The reporter, Jenna Marbles, had also been fired from the Golden City Journal, though I don’t think she was arrested. She was probably writing clickbait articles on the Internet to make ends meet now, which seemed like as good a punishment as any, in my opinion.
That had caused some of the controversy to go away, but not all of it. Munroe Acquisitions had been forced to publish several statements condemning Barriers and his actions, but it wasn’t until Sasha Munroe herself called a press conference in which she unequivocally denied any knowledge of or involvement with Barriers’ crimes and promised to retire the Barriers brand for good that the controversy died down at last. Even then, they were still getting heat from certain corners of the Internet for it. At the very least, the Barriers brand was toxic, which meant they would probably be unable to sell it even if they wanted to.
As for me and Rubberman, we were once again celebrities in the news. The Golden City Journal wrote up a glowing article about our bravery, which got a lot of likes and shares on various social media platforms. Even more important to me, though, was the fact that the owner of Jim’s Burgers called us the day after we defeated Barriers and told us that we could eat at his restaurant for free for the rest of our lives. I’d already taken advantage of his offer two times this week and planned to stop by there again after I got off work today, after my meeting with Rubberman.
Speaking of my meeting with Rubberman, I didn’t know what we were going to discuss. I had already gone back to working for him. Because Barriers was now in jail, I was technically unemployed, so Rubberman hired me again. I hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the Rubbermobile, which I hadn’t even touched since I started working for Rubberman again.
I heard a door open behind me and looked over my shoulder to see Rubberman enter the office. He had a bit of oil on his left cheek, perhaps from his tinkering with the Rubbermobile, but when he saw me, he smiled and said, “Ah, Beams. Good to see you’re here. Sorry for being late. I got caught up with messing with the Rubbermobile and lost track of the time.”
“No problem, boss,” I said as Rubberman took his seat on the other side of the desk. “What did you want to talk about, anyway?” I glanced at the calendar on his desk. “Plans for Christmas? It’s in two days.”
Rubberman shook his head. “No. We’re taking Christmas off, so you don’t have to worry about coming into work on that day. Besides, I had the Christmas merchandise finished months ago, so there’s no point in talking about that right now.”
“Oh,” I said. I rubbed the back of my neck. “Is it about me going to work for Barriers? I know we haven’t had a chance to talk about it, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for quitting like that. I should have believed you when you expressed your concerns about Sasha Munroe.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Rubberman. He picked up the bendable figurine of himself and began playing with it. “I understand why you did it and I’m not angry. You didn’t tell him any of my secrets and you helped me beat him. That’s all that matters now. I don’t think any less of you at the moment than I did before.”
I sighed in relief. “Thanks, man. That means a lot to me.”
“No problem,” said Rubberman. “Unfortunately, there is a problem we’ve run into. Remember the flash drive you stole from Takeshi?”
I nodded. “Yeah, what about it?”
“It’s gone,” said Rubberman. “Someone stole it, most likely Takeshi.”
“What?” I said. “But didn’t it have other emails on it that could have incriminated Sasha?”
Rubberman nodded. “Yes, but it’s irrelevant. When I came into the Elastic Cave this morning, I discovered that the flash drive was missing. Not only that, but the backups I made on my desktop had been deleted, which means we have no evidence of Sasha’s crimes to bring to the police.”
I punched my fist into my other hand. “Damn it. We were so close to exposing her, yet so far at the same time.”
“It isn’t all bad,” said Rubberman. “After all, Munroe Acquisitions took a huge PR nosedive when the news about Barriers hit the Internet. The Barriers brand had the potential to be an extremely valuable asset, yet is now completely toxic. I don’t think the company is going down, but I imagine it will have a very bad fourth quarter this year, to put it mildly.”
“I guess so,” I said. “I just don’t like the idea of Sasha getting away scott-free like this when she was probably involved somehow.”
“Sasha is smarter than she looks,” said Rubberman. “One reason why you should never underestimate her. She’s crafty, but we all make mistakes, and I’m sure Sasha will one of these days. When she does, we’ll be there to catch her.”
I nodded again, but it was a weak nod, because I didn’t feel nearly as confident about catching Sasha as Rubberman did. But I didn’t want to sound like a whiner, so I said, “Sure, Rubberman. Is that all you wanted to talk with me about?”
“Actually, the real reason I called this meeting was to talk about the Rubbermobile with you,” said Rubberman, “and your future with it.”
I gulped and braced myself for another lecture on driving safely, even though I hadn’t even touched the Rubbermobile recently. “Uh, really? What do you mean? Are you going to let me drive it again sometime?”
Rubberman shook his head. “No. I still don’t think you’re ready for it, even with Rubberband’s guidance. It’s way too fast for you to control.”
I expected him to say that, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed just the same. “Oh, okay. Is that all, then?”
“Nope,” said Rubberman, shaking his head. “While I don’t think you’re ready for the Rubbermobile, I do realize that you need your own vehicle. There will be times when you need to go out and fight crime on your own, but walking around or taking the bus is hardly the way a hero should rush to the scene of a crime, and your bike isn’t a very appropriate form of transportation, either.”
“Hey, my bike isn’t that bad,” I said. “Maybe it’s not very ‘heroic,’ but it’s still my bike.”
“Perhaps, but you still need an update,” said Rubberman. He clicked the mouse of his computer a few times and then turned his computer monitor to face me. “Say hello to the Beams Bike.”
Displayed on the computer monitor was a 3D model of a motorcycle of some sort. It was green and yellow, with cool lightning bolts painted on the sides. Underneath it, written in large letters, were the words ‘BEAMS BIKE CONCEPT DESIGN.’
I looked at Rubberman. “This isn’t real, is it?”
“Not yet,” said Rubberman with a smile. “Right now, it’s just in the design phase, but Armando assured me that it should be ready by spring of next year.”
My mouth fell open. “You mean I’m getting my own motorcycle? Why?”
“Well, I figure that since you ride that bicycle everywhere, you probably won’t have a lot of trouble learning how to ride a motorcycle,” said Rubberman as he turned the monitor back around. “Plus, I wanted to reward you for helping me stop Barriers. That was a very dangerous situation back there, but you handled it like a champ. Think of this as my Christmas present to you.”
“That’s incredibly generous of you, Rubberman,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” said Rubberman. “But again, you won’t get to ride it until spring of next year at the earliest. Until then, you’ll have to stick to your trusty bicycle. Understood?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t really paying attention to him anymore. I still couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know how much it cost to have a custom motorcycle built, but it had to be a lot, yet Rubberman was paying for it anyway. He must see a lot more potential or worth in me than I do, because I couldn’t think of how
this could work financially. On the other hand, I didn’t really care because I was getting an awesome motorcycle. It wasn’t a car, but it would do.
“Anyway, that’s all I wanted to tell you about,” said Rubberman. “You can go home now if you want. The streets are going to be full of people going home from work soon, so this is the best time to leave.”
“Uh, yes sir, thanks,” I said.
I stood up and rushed out the office. I didn’t look back as I ran, but somehow I could sense Rubberman smiling behind me, probably feeling my own excitement at getting a bike.
And I have to admit, I was smiling a lot myself, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Homer Watson—formerly known as the superhero Barriers—sat in the back of the police cruiser, his wrists and ankles shackled together. Even though it was dark out, he kept looking out the window, mostly because he didn’t want to look at his hands … or what was left of them, anyway, after his gauntlets blew up and took out most of them.
Ahead, at the front of the cruiser, the two police cops escorting him to Golden City Penitentiary were chatting among themselves. He heard his own name mentioned a few times, usually followed by loud, harsh laughter like someone had just told a great joke.
Homer was used to that by now. Ever since getting arrested, the police had treated him like a big joke. They constantly mocked him, told jokes about his ineptitude in bed, and generally treated him like a fool. He absolutely despised it, but had stopped responding after the first few cracks, because all his protesting ever did was make the jokes worse and more vulgar. He couldn’t stop thinking about the horse joke; that one was just sick.
But Homer wasn’t really angry about the police. No, he was angry at Rubberman and Beams. Especially Beams; it was thanks to that dumb kid that his entire career—indeed, his whole life—was now the joke of a bunch of fat police officers who were probably just jealous of the fact that he had been a famous superhero. It was thanks to Beams that he lost the use of his hands and thanks to Beams that he had nothing left to look forward to for the next decade except trying to avoid dropping soap in the shower.
Once I get out of prison, I will hunt down that brat and tear him apart piece by piece, Homer thought. Or maybe just cut his hands off, make him know what it is like to lose the use of your hands.
Homer scowled. He should never have picked up the phone when Sasha called him six months ago. He should have told her to shove it. He didn’t want to get back into this business, but having mountains of debts and no way to pay it off had an odd way of making a man do things he normally would never do. He had half-hoped that Sasha might bail him out of prison, but he knew better than to hope for that. From what he had heard from the police, Munroe Acquisitions was taking a PR beating and Sasha was doing everything in her power to disassociate the company with him.
She’s never changed, Homer thought, his scowl deepening. Always looking out for number one, ready and willing to sacrifice her own employees just to save her own hide. After I beat that brat to death, I’ll come knocking on her door next.
Homer’s thoughts were interrupted when the police cruiser came to a sudden halt. The abrupt halt caused him to hit his head against the divider and say, “Hey! What’s the deal? Hello?”
“Shut up, Shields,” said one of the police officers upfront, a Hispanic man named Garcia, who seemed to have eaten one too many donuts. “There’s something in the middle of the road.”
“Looks like a body,” said the second officer, a much thinner white guy named John who was a real jerk. “Maybe a druggie who fell asleep on the streets?”
“Whoever it is, I’m not going out there to move him,” said Garcia. “No sir. My day’s been long enough as is. You do it.”
Before John could respond to that, the door to Garcia’s side of the car was torn open. All of a sudden, a large, claw-like hand came out of nowhere and ripped Garcia out of the car before he could even scream. Garcia’s high-pitched scream could be heard outside the car, only to be followed by absolute silence a moment later.
“Garcia?” John shouted, drawing his gun from its holster. “Garcia? Are you there?”
No response. Homer nervously moved to the center of the backseat, even though it probably wouldn’t do much good against whatever had just killed poor Garcia.
John was visibly shaking. “Who’s out there? Show yourself or I’ll—”
All of a sudden, the door on the driver’s side was torn open and that same claw wrapped around John’s neck and squeezed. John immediately tried to shoot it, but before he could pull the trigger, he was yanked out of the cruiser. His gun fell out of his hands and landed on the driver’s seat, leaving Homer all alone in the cruiser.
It was now as silent as death outside. Homer strained his ears to listen for anything, but he didn’t hear a thing. It was as though someone had turned off all of the sound, which was a silly thought, but it seemed very scary to him right now.
“Guys?” said Homer. “Hello? Anyone out there? John, Garcia?”
Abruptly, the roof of the cruiser was ripped clean off and that same claw from before reached down and pulled Homer up out of the car by the collar of his prisoner’s uniform. In the next instant, Homer was out of the warm car and in the cold winter air, face to face with a creature that had no face.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate. The creature that held him with one hand had a smooth metal face, with two blue lights that might have been optics. It was vaguely humanoid in appearance, with two large metallic wings stretching from its back like an angel or perhaps a demon. It was covered head to toe in thick metal armor, which was how Homer realized that he wasn’t in the hands of some kind of devil, but another human being wearing a suit of power armor.
That did nothing to calm Homer’s fear. If anything, it increased it, because he had no idea what kind of human could tear open a car roof like that.
“W-Who the hell are you?” said Homer, his teeth chattering, and not because of the cold. “Some kind of demon?”
The armored man shook his head. “Not an demon, but an angel. And I have come to avenge those you have harmed.”
“What?” said Homer. “Look, man, I know I did some bad things, but this is crazy. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Does the sinner need to know the God who punishes him?” said the armored man. “Therefore, I am going to take your life here and now, so you will never harm anyone else again.”
“Hold on, dude!” Homer cried out. Tears were starting to flow down his cheeks now. “Look, you’re obviously some kind of superhero, so you’ve got to know that superheroes don’t kill criminals unless absolutely necessary. I was already beaten by Rubberman and his brat. Now it’s time for the justice system to deal with me. That’s how this all works. I should know, because I was a superhero myself.”
“The justice system is hopelessly corrupt,” said the armored man, “as is the entire superhero industry. It must all be burned down, starting first with ‘heroes’ like you.”
“But this is still murder,” said Homer. “Superheroes don’t murder criminals.”
The armored man tilted his head to the side. “I am not a superhero. I am a vigilante. And we do kill scum like you.”
The last thing Homer saw, before his head was torn off its neck, was the dead blue optics of the armored man as his claw tore across his skin.
-
The armored vigilante tossed the headless corpse of Homer aside. His claws were bloody now, as they usually were after a kill like this, but the vigilante felt satisfied, rather than revolted, by the sight of the red liquid on his claws. It was a sign that justice had been served, that there was now one less villain in the world to terrify innocent civilians.
But this man was but one branch of a much larger tree known as the superhero industry, the vigilante thought. He looked up at the full moon in the sky above. It will take many more deaths like his before this industry is destroyed. And I know who my next target will be.
<
br /> With a flap of his wings, the vigilante took to the skies. As he flew toward the moon, he could already see his next target in his mind’s eye, a certain rubber man and his young sidekick. It would be a pleasure to kill them, he knew, because they were every bit as corrupt as the man who he just killed even if they didn’t yet know it.
-
Continued in First Magic, now available here.
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About the Author
Under the pen name Lucas Flint, Timothy L. Cerepaka writes superhero fiction. He is the author of The Superhero’s Son, The Young Neos, and Minimum Wage Sidekick.
Find links to books, social media, updates on newest releases, and more by going to his website here. You can also sign up to be the first to learn about his newest releases by subscribing to his mailing list here.
