The World Savers

by Matt Cowper

  Neither of them felt 100% on that count, though, so they fell silent. Their superhero group flew through the air like a swarm of insects trying to outrun an irate human with a can of bug spray. It certainly looked more authentic than their initial departure; if Sam was down on the roof, he was sure he would’ve bought that the superheroes were “whupped,” as Buckshot would put it.

  After a few blocks, Metal Gal again formed her megaphone-like contraption and told everyone to stop. The group fluttered down to the rooftop of some avant-garde building, one of those weird affairs that get praised in all the right architectural magazines. After everyone made sure everyone else was all right, they peered back at city hall.

  “What do you see?” Sam asked Metal Gal.

  The metallic superheroine’s eyes glowed blue, and after a brief moment, she grinned. “My telescopic vision is really the only thing that’s working right now. As I said, too much going on for me to sort through with other types of scans. But I can plainly see that they’re rushing into city hall like they’ve won the day.”

  Some grunts of approval, and a few cheers from the other superheroes.

  “Do you see the Giftgiver?” Sam asked.

  “No,” she replied. “Maybe one of his followers turned him invisible, just to be sure. Who knows?”

  Sam again activated his commlink. “Slab? Buckshot? How are things?”

  “We’ve both fallen back,” Buckshot said, “but we ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ that pretentious ass-clown. Wait! I think––”

  “There he is!” Slab said. “A guy in white robes and a white mask just entered city hall. Had to be him – unless he’s trying to trick us like we’re trying to trick him….”

  “Naw, I don’t think so,” Buckshot said. “Nightstriker’s right: he’s full of piss and vinegar, determined to show the world who’s boss.”

  “Awesome!” Sam said, before he could stop himself. “Awesome” wasn’t the most professional thing to say at this moment, but the kid in him had burst through. He cleared his throat and spoke in a more sober tone: “Everyone get ready for the counterattack. Again, we move on Nightstriker’s signal.”

  “And just to confirm,” Buckshot said, though Sam knew he didn’t need reminding, “what sorta signals would the boss man be sending?”

  “Look for lots of explosions,” Sam replied.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nightstriker

  He was in the eye of the storm. Outside of the mayor’s secret, shielded room, the battle continued. His teammates would be retreating, and – unless he’d badly miscalculated – the Purifiers would assume control of city hall.

  Inside this room, though, there were no shouts, grunts, explosions, or the various noises that the Purifiers’ different energy blasts made. The only sounds were the rustle of Nightstriker’s uniform when he moved, and the pop of his joints when he stretched.

  It was like being inside a sensory deprivation chamber, and it gave him a precious few minutes to think. Not about the plan to defeat the Giftgiver; that was already in motion, and he could do nothing to alter it from in here. Instead, he thought about the Giftgiver’s rationale for his actions, and he thought about the threat he’d made to the mayor.

  Prime ministers…generals…mercenary organizations that somehow got lucrative government contracts…members of Congress…exiled royalty…the list of corrupt people in the world was long. Nightstriker occasionally sent an anonymous tip to the press, which usually led to the person’s removal from whatever position of power they held, but like most superheroes, he’d mainly been focused on what he considered more dire threats: supervillains hellbent on world conquest, kidnappers, alien threats, drug cartels, and the like.

  He had no doubt that his actions had made the world a better place, but there were still plenty of rotten apples out there, people who worked from the shadows or hid their actions behind countless arcane laws. As with Z City’s mayor, some of those rotten apples he’d left alone, because they did have their uses. And bringing the mayor’s unethical actions to light would probably mean a so-called reformer would channel the people’s outrage and assume his position. These reformers were usually blinded by their zeal, and in their rush to change everything, they shattered a great many laws and institutions that were better left untouched. The Giftgiver was a perfect example of one such reformer.

  But Nightstriker knew the counter-arguments well: such a mindset belonged to a conservative, or at least a timid moderate. The argument for maintaining stability was always used when anyone suggested any sort of change. He didn’t think of himself as a conservative or a timid moderate, but his actions – or non-actions – certainly meant someone could level those charges at him.

  Other reform-minded superhumans had risen up before, but never one as threatening as the Giftgiver. If he’d taken several years to train and prepare his army, the Elites would never be able to defeat him. As it was, they’d captured Nightstriker himself, eluded pursuit, and turned Z City into a war zone. And suppose they had been able to extract Nightstriker’s knowledge from his mind? They’d be ten times as dangerous, able to topple governments and slaughter millions at will.

  No, Nightstriker didn’t want to see another Giftgiver-like superhuman again – which meant he had to drain the swamp.

  Now, though, it was time to deal with the immediate threat. It had been five minutes since he contacted Blaze. The Purifiers should be in the building, hopefully with their leader triumphantly at the forefront.

  He did a few more stretches and deep-breathing exercises before walking to the door to the shielded room. He said in the mayor’s voice, “I am God.”

  “Hello, mayor,” the computerized voice said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Open door,” Nightstriker said.

  The wall panel slid open, sending fresh air rushing into the tiny chamber. Nightstriker calmly stepped out into the mayor’s office – and seven superhumans, including the Giftgiver himself, turned towards him, shocked.

  “You!” the Giftgiver shouted. He was standing on top of the mayor’s desk, evidently in the middle of a speech. His white robes were stained with dust and blood, but the blood didn’t appear to be his. “What is this?! How are you here? We scanned the entire building!”

  “Not well enough,” Nightstriker said, reaching into his uniform and pulling out a device about the size of a cigarette lighter. “As usual, you underestimate your opponents. This is a trap, Giftgiver. It’s over. Surrender now, and tell all your people to stand down.”

  “You…you bastard!” the Giftgiver said, the uncovered portion of his face quivering. “You’re always there, mocking me, ruining my plans!”

  “That’s my job,” Nightstriker said. “Now surrender. I won’t ask again.”

  “Never!” the Giftgiver shouted, pointing a damning finger at Nightstriker. “You’re all alone in here, and we’ve got our positions fortified! No one can retake city hall!”

  “I beg to differ,” Nightstriker said. He pressed the button on his small device, and a series of explosions rocked the entire building. Nearby screams followed, and an acrid scent wafted into the room.

  “What was that?!” one of the superhumans shouted.

  “The explosions sealed off most of the entrances, and collapsed most of the stairwells and elevators,” Nightstriker replied, “except the ones I wanted kept open to aid in our counterattack, of course. The only way out is through the exits I’ve left open, which are now choke points, and the windows – unless you use precious time to clear out the rubble that’s blocking the other exists.”

  “Well, then that also means the only way in is through the windows or those remaining exits,” the Giftgiver said. “You’ve sealed yourself in here with us, Nightstriker!”

  “Not exactly,” Nightstriker replied, pulling a small plastic mask out of a pouch in his costume and placing it over his nose and mouth. “That odor? It’s knockout gas. I placed canisters throughout the building, and just set them off. Your
people will be falling by the dozens.”

  The Purifiers looked quickly at their leader, their movements nervous, the ones with energy abilities letting their powers absentmindedly fluctuate, much like Blaze’s powers manifested based on his mood. It was obvious no one had brought gas masks, or had noticed the explosive charges or gas canisters, or had a plan of escape.

  “Yes, you can shatter the windows and run from the gas,” Nightstriker went on, “but those superheroes you just fought? They’re waiting outside for you to do just that. Other groups are equipped with gas masks, and they should be storming the building now.”

  Indeed, the sounds of fighting came from the hallway, and outside the mayor’s window everyone could see a group of flying superheroes descending on city hall like a squadron of fighter planes.

  “This…this is impossible!” the Giftgiver said. “We scanned the building! There was nothing here! How did you––”

  “There are ways to beat any superhuman ability, as we’ve proven on several occasions,” Nightstriker replied. “But I’m done talking. You’ve made your choice – now it’s time to suffer the consequences.”

  He whipped out three throwing stars and hurled them at the three superhumans he’d determined had the most dangerous energy abilities. The stars thunked into their arms, and they yelped and quickly reached to pull them out, but then an electrical charge ran through their bodies, and they fell to the mayor’s expensive carpet, smoking and twitching.

  “Stop him!” the Giftgiver yelled, jumping from the desk and rushing to the door. “I must coordinate our defense, before we’re undone!”

  Nightstriker grabbed a large trophy from the mayor’s bookshelf – something to do with exemplary public service, it looked like – and tossed it at the Giftgiver. It hit him in the side of the head, and he tumbled into a leather chair. He wasn’t knocked out, though, only dazed, and was already struggling to his feet.

  The three remaining Purifiers weren’t about to let Nightstriker capture their leader. They charged him, and he quickly assessed their powers. One was a speedster, an incongruously chubby guy wearing a Space Invaders t-shirt, but his speed was only a few dozen percentage points higher than a normal human’s. Then there was a slim woman with frizzy red hair who could shoot a spiderweb-like material from her palms. Nightstriker dodged one such shot, and noted that the web stuck to the wall like glue. Finally, there was a Hispanic man dressed in all black who hadn’t yet manifested any powers. The unknown entity was the most dangerous, so Nightstriker focused on him.

  He jumped forward, surprising the onrushing trio. Inexperienced fighters usually expected someone who was outnumbered to be playing defense. And, in many cases, a hit-and-run approach was perfectly feasible. In this instance, though, he had to get rid of the mystery superhuman, and this was the quickest way to do it.

  A kick to the groin doubled the man over, a knee to his face broke his nose, and another kick to the back of his head rendered him unconscious. Two left, not counting the Giftgiver.

  Nightstriker quickly glanced across the room, but the Giftgiver was gone. Frustrating, but not particularly surprising; the man had a habit of slipping out of tight situations.

  “You can’t beat us!” the spiderweb-girl said. “You think you’re so smart, but we’ll find a way to––”

  Nightstriker let one of the girl’s web-lines hit him, then he grabbed it, planted his feet, and slung her into the bookcase, causing the books and trophies on its shelves to crash onto the floor.

  Now the speedster was on him. The Purifier had wisely decided to attack from behind, and a dozen blows slammed into Nightstriker’s shoulders, legs, and back. His costume was padded, though, and while the speedster’s heft gave his blows some power, he was, like most of the Purifiers, unschooled in fighting techniques. Nightstriker absorbed the strikes with a grunt, and then stuck out his leg. This simple move tripped up the speedster, and he went rolling – fortuitously, right into the mayor’s secret room.

  Nightstriker ran over and said, in his imitation of the mayor’s voice, “I am God.” When the computer answered his voicecode, he said, “Close door,” and the speedster was locked within the room, no longer a threat unless he had more mastery over his ability than Nightstriker suspected.

  Now only the web-girl remained – and thick webs wrapped around his legs, causing him to fall. He quickly reached into his costume, pulled out a knife, and sliced the sticky substance from his legs, but then another web closed around his knife-hand.

  The web-girl had adapted her strategy. Instead of shooting web-lines at him and then trying to pull him down in a contest of strength, she was shooting globs at his limbs in an attempt to hinder his mobility. Several more globs smacked into him, though he did he best to sidestep them. Not only were they sticky, they were heavy; if a few more hit, he’d be as slow as a normal human.

  “I hate you!” the girl screamed. “You’re so fucking arrogant! Instead of helping people, you sit up there in the Beacon like fucking kings and queens! My parents got cancer from toxic drinking water…and…and they’re dead! And no one gives a shit! No one except us, the Purifiers!”

  Nightstriker didn’t reply, and this unnerved the girl, who probably expected him to commiserate or negotiate – to say something.

  Instead, he dove towards her, and she predictably shot her webs at where she thought he was going to land. But Nightstriker planted his hands on the carpet and spun in the opposite direction, in a move that only a gymnast with perfect balance could’ve replicated. The girl’s eyes went wide as his legs swept into her, sending her crashing to her butt. Before she could recover, two stiff punches to her face KOed her.

  Nightstriker rose and ran out of the mayor’s office, slicing off the web-globs as he went. Everything was going according to plan, but the Giftgiver still hadn’t been apprehended, and until that happened the outcome was far from certain.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Blaze

  They could feel the explosions at city hall, even though they were several blocks away. Smoke began drifting up into the blue sky, along with a yellowish vapor – the gas that Nightstriker was using to thin out the herd of Purifiers.

  “That was it!” Blaze shouted, both to the surrounding superheroes and to anyone listening in on his commlink. “Let’s get a move on!”

  “Normally I wouldn’t use this catchphrase,” Slab said through the commlink, “but I’m in one of those moods. So, here goes: it’s clobberin’ time!”

  “Yippie kie yay, motherfuckers!” Buckshot screamed through his commlink.

  Blaze grinned; everyone was amped up, ready to finally crush these Purifiers. He put on a small gas mask along with everyone else. Gillespie had sent transport ships filled with the things down to the gathered heroes, and they were all now protected from the knockout gas, provided the masks weren’t destroyed or ripped off. Sam thought his Fire Shield would protect him, but then he remembered how Anna, the gas-form superhuman they were holding in the Beacon, had slipped right past the shield and nearly choked him to death. He didn’t want a repeat of that experience.

  Was Anna still on the Beacon? Was she still vacillating between helping them or remaining true to the Giftgiver? While Nightstriker’s plan was, of course, excellent, Sam had a feeling they’d need Anna or some ultra-powered Class S superhuman to achieve victory.

  Then again, he was supposed to be a Class S superhuman. He’d been doing well lately, but now he really had to show what he was made of.

  Sam burst into the air along with the other fliers, heading directly towards city hall. He didn’t attempt to carry anyone; he was far too hot. The others would have to airlift the non-fliers as best they could.

  As he got closer to the building, he saw the Purifiers had shattered some of the glass windows. They weren’t attempting to escape, though; instead, smoke and knockout gas was pouring unnaturally out of the openings. They probably had someone with air powers or super-breath blowing it out. A good strategy, but if tha
t gas was as potent as Nightstriker said it was, the damage was already done.

  Sam formed a Galileo Ball and flew into an opening on the bottom floor. The plan was to force the Purifiers to either fly out of the building or move towards the roof. Either outcome made them sitting ducks. Unlike when the superheroes defended the building, they wouldn’t be allowed to set up ground support outside.

  The gas was still thick in the area Sam had flown into. It appeared to be the main reception area of city hall, with a long information desk, a large waiting area, and a generous amount of potted plants, sculptures, and artwork.

  About a dozen Purifiers had collapsed from the gas, but five were still standing. One had some sort of forcefield, but Sam didn’t know how the other four weren’t affected. Perhaps they all had enhanced durability, or special lungs.

  He didn’t care either way. He unleashed the Galileo Ball, bathing the room in intense white light. Four of the five covered their eyes and instinctively crouched down, but the one with the forcefield wasn’t bothering by the light. He glared at Sam with unrestrained contempt, and then rushed forward.

  It was brave, but stupid. Sam blasted him with a medium-sized fireball, and his shield, effective just seconds ago, melted away like it had been constructed out of cloth. The Purifier stared down at his now-vulnerable body in utter shock; Sam would’ve bet that was the first time his shield had been breached. Before the man could recover his wits, Sam rocked him with a fiery uppercut, causing him to perform two involuntary backflips and land in one of the potted plants.

  Metal Gal and several other superheroes floated, rolled, ran, or slid across ice bridges into the reception area. Gal looked around, her eyes glowing various colors, until she saw the four Purifiers still conscious. They were about get their vision back, but Gal morphed her arm into a cannon, shot four blasts at them, and the room was clear.

  “That’s a good start, everyone!” Metal Gal said.