Black Power- The Superhero Anthology

by Balogun Ojetade

  Grumbling, the second Royce turned around and trudged into the darkness.

  Nonplussed, 16 pulled a candy bar from a pocket and started eating as he returned the way he came, heading back towards Django.

  * * *

  Callahan’s voice in Django’s ear said, “You’re quiet down there, pal. Everything all right?”

  “I’ve walked through more feces in the last minute than I have touched in my entire life,” Django said through gritted teeth without breaking stride. “My visit to your lovely city could not be going better.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Callahan chuckled, because you’ll be right on top of one of those monsters in a minute. Natural gas leaks are all around you, so please no fireworks. I’d like to see the gold watch they give cops when they retire, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Django noted the sound of footsteps and whispered, “Perhaps you should turn down the volume, both ways,” the son of Shango said. “This could get loud.”

  Django positioned his back against the turn at the plus sign-shaped intersection of junctions, crouched slightly and pulled his fist back. Still chewing the candy bar, Royce 16 came around the corner, oblivious. Django punched with much of his considerable strength, landing a blow directly in Royce 16’s abdomen. The clone spat a chunk of nougat ten feet, the breath knocked out of him. Django leapt up and smashed the back of Royce 16’s head, knocking the bulk of the British man into the sewage with a messy splash. Django stood, ready for more, but saw the massive man lying still, bubbles percolating up from the water.

  “Didja kill him?” Callahan asked.

  Django walked around the fallen felon, eyebrow furrowed. “I don’t think this is a real ‘him’ to kill,” Django said, examining Royce 16’s back.

  “Whaddaya mean?” Callahan barked.

  “Sheesh… could you remember you’re right in my ear?” Django spat out. “Something feels different about this man. Most people… they feel like people when I meet them. I shook your hand and it was like shaking the hand of a whole person. This… even when I hit him, he felt like something was missing. Now he’s probably suffocating to death, I’m taking a good look and… and it just feels like something’s missing in the small of his back…”

  “Chakras,” Callahan said plainly.

  “What?” Django asked.

  “My ex-wife went really new age for about two years,” Callahan explained. “Had me taking yoga, studying all kinds of eastern hoo-hah. Turned her into a wildcat in the sack, but I guess the yoga instructor thought so too…anyway, according to them, everybody has seven centers of energy up and down their spine, and the one in line with the solar plexus is the source of a person’s life energy. If these guys ain’t guys, no chakra there.”

  The bubbles stopped and Django nodded. “So I didn’t just commit felonious assault pursuant to murder…”

  “You put down a dangerous and unpredictable animal that literally was not human, down to the way it’s disappearing from my screen,” Callahan finished. “Cheers!”

  Django considered this as the body began to disintegrate. “It’ll be good to not hold back as much, then. What about when I find the real Royce?”

  “Sounds like you’ll know the difference,” Callahan replied. “I read his sheet though; you’d be doing the world a favor finishing him off too. Hey, did you see anything else unusual on the guy?”

  As the body melted, Django noted the bracelet’s glow fading as it disintegrated. “Glowing bracelet,” he said. “Disappeared when he did.”

  “Maybe next time grab that before you dust the dupe,” Callahan said thoughtfully.

  “Dust the dupe?” Django asked.

  “Sorry, I’m a Whedonite,” Callahan chuckled, “and you’re going full Slayer down there. Long story, I’ll explain later. Now, if you head due east, you’ll run into two, one walking away from you and one towards, about half a click.”

  “Copy that,” Django said, stepping away from the ooze that was Royce 16, mixing in with the detritus of the city.

  * * *

  Elsewhere, the original Royce was pounding through a wall when he heard a trilling sound echoing through the sewers. He sighed and fumbled for his pocket, tapping at the screen until it offered forth sound.

  “Mister Royce, can you hear me?” came Legacy’s voice through the touchscreen phone’s speaker.

  “Oi!” Royce responded.

  “I’m told that’s a greeting where you’re from,” Legacy continued, “so I’ll take that as an affirmative answer. Have you and your platoon of reproductions located the stone yet?”

  “No, sir,” Royce responded, “I’ve got all of, uh, me’selves tearin’ up the town, but these detector bracelets ‘aven’t found it in all the shyte and what not. You’re sure they work?”

  “Thousands of years ago,” Legacy said with the rhythms of someone intending to tell a lengthy yarn, “the being who made me also created technology to hide this world from a threat even his immeasurably powerful people feared. A relentless and nigh-unstoppable horde of ravenous space monsters burning their way through entire universes. Destroying that deceptively simple stone will bring them all coming, fulfilling every one of our dreams of fire and blood and screaming in the night. The stone is made of elements not of this earth, and the bracelet you got before being duplicated can detect it if brought close enough. Just keep proceeding as you are and keep me happy.”

  Royce grunted. “It’d go faster if there were more than 25 of me; St. Louis is a big bloody town.”

  Legacy sighed, an expression conveying such exasperation that it seemed as though it could weigh down continents. “As I explained, the technology I employed is both very unstable and very rare. I’ve been saving it for seven hundred years because I cannot replicate it with the technology of this planet, nor can I stretch out its effects. Two dozen copies of any one carbon-based life form that will all dissolve in exactly twenty four hours, no more. I will check on your progress in two hours, Mister Royce. Please destroy the stone.”

  The line went CLICK and Royce wondered at the phone. Shrugging, he shoved it back into his pocket, slammed a fist into the wall and walked through the hole he’d created.

  * * *

  It took five more Royces before Django was able to secure a bracelet. The two at once turned into a legitimate brawl, knocking down two load-bearing sections and inadvertently making another sinkhole. A Buick fell on one of the Royces, shearing his head clean off of his body. The second was somewhere between laughter and shock and didn’t see Django plowing into him from the side. The impact drove the larger man into a set of exposed rebar. The metal rod pushed through the Royce’s throat, spraying blood everywhere.

  As Django was catching his breath, three more of the man monstrosities rushed in to attack at once, piling on top of him. Django unleashed all of his strength, punching straight through a Royce’s chest. Swinging wildly, he ripped off the head of a second while the third tried to get him in a headlock. Frustrated, a sizzle of current danced along Django’s fist for a split second but he calmed himself, stretched out his arms and slammed his elbows back into the Royce, sending bone fragments through soft tissue and tossing the creature back 20 feet. Before Django could get to the fallen body, the bracelet and the corpse were already starting to dissolve.

  Django stood, breathing heavily, arms akimbo, looking down on the wrecked bodies dissolving away. Remembering, he leapt at the last one down and snatched the bracelet off before the dissolution began. He slapped it on his wrist and watched the body begin to turn into ooze, smiling that the bracelet remained solid.

  He heard the sound of footsteps running behind him and spun, fists up, but furrowed his brow when he realized they were too quick and too soft to be another one of the Royce duplicates.

  A small Caucasian girl ran around the corner, her face a mask of terror. She was dressed in tatters, dirty gray and brown clothes that were stained and torn and encrusted with the filth of the sewers. She was looking over her sho
ulder and not where she was running, bumping directly into Django, her face slamming into his chest.

  She fell on her backside and stared up at him, dumbfounded.

  “Hello,” Django began calmly, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “Are you …”

  The girl screamed loudly and leapt up, fists swinging and pounding ineffectually on Django’s chest. He stood there, eyebrow raised as she continued until she got winded and stopped.

  “You can calm down,” Django said slowly, “I’m one of the good guys…the way I look notwithstanding.”

  She looked at him, wondering. “You’re not one of those monsters! Can you help me? They squashed my squat and killed my boyfriend Jimmy!”

  Django recoiled, aghast. “You lived down here?”

  The girl sucked her teeth and glared at him. “Look, I’m gonna keep running if you wanna sit here and judge me; ain’t nobody got time for that!”

  Django looked down, realizing the issue and started again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can help you. My name is Django, I’m with T.A.S.K., which is like…”

  “I’ve seen a television,” the girl spat out, “I know what T.A.S.K. is. I’m Erin, can we get out of here?”

  “Hang on one second,” Django said, put a hand to his ear and asked, “Callahan, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you, Jamie Foxx,” Callahan said. “If you backtrack and head to your left, which is due east, I can have some uniforms come get her to safety.”

  Django nodded and said, “Erin, I just spoke to the police. They’re coming to get you out of…”

  Erin cringed, shrinking back from him.

  “Listen, listen, it’s okay…” Django said, reaching out to hold her shoulder. “You can trust me. Nobody’s mad at you, you won’t get arrested. We just want to stop these guys. Look at me.” He held her eye contact and said, “I can help.”

  Erin looked skeptically at him, and said, “I guess you’re my best choice, Magic Mullet. Let’s go.”

  She walked behind him as he led the way, frowning at all the jokes leveled his way. “How long have you been living down here, Erin?” Django asked after a little while, trying to change the mood.

  “Really?” Erin laughed. “We’re on a date now? Is this what we’re doing?”

  “I’m sorry,” Django said through gritted teeth. “People have been telling me I’m not exactly open to people, so I wanted to try and make you feel more comfortable…”

  “Get me out of the sewers filled with giant smashing monsters,” Erin muttered. “Get me completely dry for the first time in six weeks. Get me a meal that doesn’t taste like something somebody else ate. Then I can try this ‘comfortable’ you’re talking about.”

  Django was about to respond when he heard an angry voice yelling “Oi!” from behind. He turned to look and saw the silhouette of two of the Royce clones running towards them.

  “Erin,” Django said calmly, “you’re gonna keep running in the direction we were walking. Run hard. There will be cops who will get you out of here, get you cleaned up, get you a meal. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, I promise, but you have to run, NOW!”

  Erin’s eyes went wide and she sprinted away. Django started to power up before he inhaled a whiff of natural gas and recalled why this was all taking so long. Ducking under the haymaker of the first, Django swept his foot, tripping the second, who fell face first into the feces-laced water. The first one was quicker than Django expected and smashed the hero in the back. Django fell into the water as well and saw Erin stop to look back at him.

  “RUN!” he yelled as the second Royce rose and the first pounded his back again.

  Erin fretted a moment and yelled, “I’ll never forget what you did for me, Black Jesus!” She then ran as quickly as possible away from the fight.

  Django rolled out of the way of a punch that smashed a foot down through the sewer floor. He performed a Capoeira kick to the knee of the other Royce, who was trying to move into a better position after wiping himself off somewhat. Django flipped to his feet before the one that got some punches in could free himself. He leapt up, then drop kicked the clone in the face. The Royce dissolved into muck. The remaining Royce leapt angrily but lost his balance, and Django was able to evade him easily, punching the side of the clone’s neck, silencing it forever. Pulling himself from the wet newspaper and clinging trash, Django smashed a foot down on the head of the fallen clone and watched it dissolve as well.

  “Callahan…” Django breathed heavily, “the girl…”

  “We got her out,” the cop’s calm voice returned. “They’re getting her some cocoa. We’ll make sure she’s cared for. You okay down there?”

  “How… many… left?” Django asked, clearing his throat.

  “Lemme see what’s on the heat map here,” Callahan said, his voice drifting a bit as he reached for something away from the microphone. “Seventeen.”

  “SEVENTEEN?” Django asked, incredulous. “Seventeen more of these things… spirits above…”

  “If it makes you feel better,” Callahan offered, “None of my boys could handle one, and you’ve taken down eight.”

  Django chuckled. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better, Lieutenant. Okay, what’s next…”

  “Well, if you turn left at the next junction instead of going straight like the girl did, you’ll find three standing together in about fifty yards. Follow that and you’ll be heading in the direction of most of them.”

  Django boggled but replied, “Copy that. I’m en route.”

  “The city of St. Louis thanks you, Django,” Callahan said sincerely. “We’ve completely evacuated the area, but it’d still be nice to avoid blowing it all up…”

  “Yes, I can smell the natural gas more heavily down here,” Django said. “I should be fine, but I want to hurry…”

  “For a lot of reasons, I get it,” Callahan finished for him. “I’m here if you need me.”

  Django trudged onward.

  * * *

  Some miles away, the original Royce walked up to find four of his duplicates standing together in a large open area where multiple sluiceways with ten foot wide openings dumped sewer water into a large centralized room.

  “Oi!” they all said as he approached.

  “I can see why I’m an acquired taste,” Royce muttered. “What are you nutters standing around for?”

  In unison, they all pointed at his wrist without a word. He looked down and saw that it was glowing bright red. “Blimey!” he said, “best we got was a sassy pink!”

  All four held up their wrists to him and showed the same. One walked slowly back and had the brightness of his bracelet fade slightly.

  “I get it, I get it, ye’re all bloody brilliant,” Royce said. “It’s under the ground; get to it!”

  All four started pounding at the ground simultaneously, water splashing furiously around them as they went. Royce stepped off to one side, out of range of the waterworks, and fumbled with his pocket to retrieve his phone. He sat down in one of the sluiceways, his feet hanging freely like a child at a holiday dinner table, and waited.

  “Mister Royce?” Legacy’s voice came through, like a serpent in the night.

  “Oi!” Royce replied. “The bracelets worked. Four of, uh, me are digging for it now.”

  “Splendid!” Legacy replied, clapping his hands a little. “I was worried that the losses you’ve incurred would be an issue.”

  Royce took the phone away from his ear and wondered at it a moment. “Losses?”

  Legacy sighed and said, “Ah, perhaps I should have given you some way to communicate with your simulacra. Nine … wait, no, ten of the duplicates have ceased to exist. Let me see here… ah, local law enforcement notes that a member of T.A.S.K. is on hand, a Liume demigod of some sort… Django.”

  “Which one is he?” Royce asked.

  “Let me call up his file; one moment, Mister Royce…” Legacy said distractedly. “Oh, my, he’s impressive. Sixty ton bench pr
ess, that’s why he’s making his way through… oh my, two more gone, that’s almost half. He can use lightning but I’m not seeing any indication of that…”

  “Gas leaks,” Royce grunted. “Smells like the crack of a fat man’s arse down ‘ere, but my people worked utilities enough for me to notice. Musta busted something open…”

  “Hm. Well, as long as he doesn’t destroy you, all the remaining duplicates should remain functional.”

  “Bloody fat chance of that,” Royce muttered.

  “You are indeed impressive, Mister Royce,” Legacy agreed, “But he is stronger than you by a factor of four. Can you marshal your numbers and use your military experience to defeat this divine antagonist? Oh, he’s speeding up, there went three, no, four more. Sixteen of twenty five, gone.”

  “I got four more ‘ere with me,” Royce noted. “No easy way to get to the rest. Don’t wanna send one out to warn ‘em, lose the numbers. He prolly got a way to find us, so he’s ‘eadin’ ‘ere. Gotta set a bloody trap…”

  “That’s that dangerous mind I found so delightful,” Legacy said proudly. “Well… oh, seventeen … he’s on his way. Don’t fail me.”

  The line went CLICK and Royce mulled over the situation. He looked around, seeing far too many entry points to protect. He hopped down and waded over to the duplicates surrounded by a circle of shattered stone as they pounded their way into the ground below.

  “Oi! OI!” Royce yelled as he approached. One tapped the next and in seconds they had all stopped, looking at him.

  “Company’s comin’ ‘ere,” he said grimly. “Seventeen of us gone. T.A.S.K. guy called Django. Can’t use ‘is lightning, but strong as four of us.”

  They looked at each other and then back to him before one said, “There’s five of us.”

  “Exactly,” Royce nodded, pointing at the dupe. “The three left out there, prolly dead or on their way. You four keep doin’ this, I’ll dig into a wall and wait. We’ll overpower ‘im.”

  “Dogpile!” another duplicate smiled, cracking his knuckles.

  “You got it,” Royce agreed. “Take turns. Three dig, one watches. Oi!”