by Matt Cowper
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nightstriker
It was odd to be lying in bed at eleven AM. Usually Nightstriker was on his feet at this hour, going through an intense training session, or, if the need called for it, battling supervillains. But after a light workout this morning, he’d returned to his quarters on the Beacon for some relaxation.
He’d given his teammates three days off, and he was sure each of them would make full use of their mini-vacation. Blaze would be staying with his parents; Buckshot had returned to Texas, where he’d almost certainly down more beer than was good for him and go hunting for illegal game; Slab loved the beach, and with his salary as an Elite, he’d finally been able to afford that trip to Barbados; and Metal Gal had flown to the moon. It was one of her favorite getaway spots: quiet and empty, a perfect place to decompress from the strain of human society.
Nightstriker had, of course, remained on the Beacon. Someone had to be ready if a new threat arose. However, after their showing against the Giftgiver, he didn’t think the world’s supervillains would try anything brazen, for a few days at least. Seeing such displays of superhero force usually scared them into behaving – but memories fade, and soon enough the usual villains would be running amok.
However, while he wasn’t technically on vacation, he had cut back on his usual tenacious schedule. Forming and leading the Elites had already taught him much, the main thing being that even he had limits. Fatigue and frustration had overwhelmed him at first, and he didn’t plan on letting that happen again.
He’d sent some interesting documents and voice recordings to well-regarded journalists late last night, and he needed to check the news to see if any of it was moving through the system. But that could wait until after lunch. Right now, he was engrossed in Kierkegaard-Three’s Eighteen Discourses on Supervillain Depravity, one of the seminal works on supervillain psychology.
It wasn’t what most people considered light reading, and Nightstriker knew he was cheating a bit by reading something of this nature, instead of something truly relaxing. But after their fight with the Giftgiver, aka Bradley Poole, it felt necessary to brush up on the ideas presented in this tome.
He read: “One of the most overlooked psychological quirks of certain supervillains is their need to be captured. This, of course, is not true of many, perhaps most supervillains. A villain such as the Antarctic Anarchist, for example, has rarely been caught, and when he has, his anger at his plight has been genuine, and he has quickly escaped from whatever prison he’s been placed in. But many supervillains are simply weak-willed humans who have suddenly acquired great power. They can only function within a well-structured, hierarchical system. Even a prison, though it restricts their freedom and is filled with violent criminals, is an acceptable system. They believe they do not need structure, and set out to use their powers to create a life where they have no responsibilities, no wants or needs, no condescending superiors.
“But they quickly find themselves unmoored, with no goals – or goals that are too flighty or ridiculous to truly be called goals – and no sense of belonging. Thus, they sabotage themselves – though they will strenuously deny it, and in most cases they are indeed unaware of the inner workings of their mind – and end up in MegaMax Prison or some similar correctional facility. Here they will find the sense of belonging that they’d denied themselves – though, again, they will swear they despise prison, and many will attempt to break out. But they will always be caught again relatively easily, and return to the structure they need.”
Nightstriker had read this passage many times before, and had mixed feelings on it. Certainly, there were many villains who had absolutely zero discipline. They were like soldiers who could only function well when they were given clear instructions, with a tough sergeant looking over their shoulder to make sure they did what they were supposed to.
The Giftgiver, however, didn’t want to get caught. He really did believe in his messianic mission. He was just impatient and proud, along with a host of other flaws. He hadn’t learned that it didn’t matter how many individual battles one won or lost – it only mattered who won the war. His desperation to be taken seriously, to win at all costs, to destroy an entire city to prove a point, caused his undoing. Without his zealousness, Anna would never have betrayed him, and they would never have stopped him from using Natalie’s explosive abilities.
Then again, without his zealousness, he never would’ve attempted to vaporize Z City in the first place, and Anna would still be following him, and the Elites would still probably be fighting for their survival. It was a thorny issue. He’d have to run some more computer models to see how the events of the past few days would’ve played out if the various players made different choices.
The door to his room slid open. Since he’d engaged the locking protocols, it could only mean one person was about to enter: Beverly Gillespie, the Secretary of Superhuman Affairs, and the person who could override any lock on the Beacon.
She marched into his room before he could even climb out of bed. Though she’d been gracious after the victory, showering the Elites with praise and saying all the right things to the various news organizations, she now looked as intense and deadly as a tornado.
“What have you done?” she demanded, the four words coming out half-garbled. She was so angry she could barely speak.
“What do you mean?” Nightstriker replied, though he knew exactly why she was here, and couldn’t prevent a smile from forming.
“Don’t you dare fucking smile!” she shouted. “And get up out of bed! You’re not going to lay there like some lazy teenager while I’m reprimanding you!”
Slowly, Nightstriker rose, setting down Kierkegaard-Three’s book on his nightstand. Though he was clad only in spandex shorts, Gillespie didn’t so much as glance at his rock-hard body, as she’d done the last time she was in here.
“Reprimanding me?” Nightstriker echoed. “That’s not going to go over well, Gillespie, especially since I don’t––”
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” She yanked the TV remote from a table and turned on the television, her jabbing motion nearly shattering the device. The TV blinked on, and Gillespie turned it to KOOW.
“…the Z City Times has just unveiled incredible documents linking numerous officials within the city’s government to a host of crimes,” a suave male anchor said. “The mayor, the police chief, and two long-serving members of the city council are among the many implicated. The crimes and ethics violations include money laundering, influence peddling, extortion, and….”
Gillespie changed the channel, to a national news organization, NCC. A middle-aged female anchor was speaking: “The mood on the Senate floor has been described as ‘shocked’ and ‘frightened’ as the full extent of these allegations become realized. Federal prosecutors are already moving to indict those Senators mentioned in the reports published today by various newspapers throughout the country. Many are speculating that the corruption extends to the White House, and to….”
Gillespie clicked off the TV and threw the remote against the wall. It blew apart, plastic and wires scattering across the room. It looked like she wanted to throw Nightstriker against the wall too, but as enraged as she was, she knew it would be folly to try it.
“I don’t care about the how,” she said. “You could’ve sent that evidence any number of ways, and the specifics don’t matter. I want to know why. Why would you do this?”
“Why do you think––”
“STOP PREVARICATING!” she screamed, spittle flying from her lips. “It has to be you. No one else could learn about all that, no one else could disseminate the information so efficiently. Why, Nightstriker? We’ve just stopped the Giftgiver, the world is reeling from happiness, and you go and do this.”
“The answer lies with the man we stopped,” Nightstriker said. “Specifically, his ideals. He was right about a great many things, Gillespie. Wrong in his approach, of course, but there’s no doubt our s
ociety is rotten, and that our so-called superheroes – myself included – have not done enough to excise that rot. We’ve told ourselves that stability must be maintained, and that reformers are sometimes more dangerous than the establishment grifters they depose. We allowed the Giftgiver to rise up – and if he hadn’t been a true fanatic, he would’ve won. So I decided to drain the swamp, as they say. I sent detailed evidence to various newspapers and TV stations, with specific instructions on how to present it – evidence that will lead to dozens of convictions, or at least resignations.”
“You…you have no right,” Gillespie stammered. “You’ve gone after the mayor of Z City, the town council, even the U.S. Senate and maybe the White House! Do you think they’re going to take this lying down?”
“Of course not, and I’ve planned accordingly. And this is just the beginning. I’ve targeted the big guns to get everyone’s attention. But rest assured, wherever there’s corruption, from the town council of a one-stoplight town in Alabama, to the Californian state legislature, to the British parliament, I’ll unveil it. I will no longer put myself – or my friends – in danger to protect the parasites, Machiavellians, and sadists infecting our society.”
“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Gillespie said. “If I can figure out it was you, so can they. They’re going to come after you, Nightstriker – not just you, but every other Elite, and maybe even every superhero. You’ll be treated exactly like the Giftgiver: hunted, scorned, ridiculed.”
“Maybe,” Nightstriker replied. “Whistleblowers often suffer. But unlike the Giftgiver, I’m fighting this systemic corruption peacefully, using the press and the courts. They can come after me if they want, but they can’t do it openly.”
“Of course they can’t!” Gillespie shouted. “Do you think they’re too conscientious to skulk in the shadows? No, they’ll be happy to arrange a little ‘accident’ for you, if it means stopping the stream of damning information you’re leaking to the press.”
“I don’t have accidents of any sort,” Nightstriker said. “But, while we’re on that topic, if the powers-that-be do develop these shadowy plans, you’d be an ideal candidate to implement them.”
Gillespie’s response was a frigid stare. She looked truly formidable – not, Nightstriker admitted, someone he wanted to fight.
“As I suspected,” Nightstriker said, shaking his head. “I told the other Elites I trusted you during our discussion about Miasma and Anna, and when you first offered me this job, you said you’d support me if I went after what the establishment would call questionable targets. But now that things have truly come to a head, you revert to the government stooge you are. You made a lot noise about how you were different than the other bureaucrats, but it appears you’re cut from the same cloth after all. Tell me, Gillespie: do I need to take steps to remove you from the equation, or will you stand with the Elites when the time comes?”
Again, Gillespie could do nothing but stare. But then, after a few seconds, her features twisted into a pathetic mask of sadness and confusion, and Nightstriker thought he saw tears forming in her bloodshot eyes.
“This is a mistake, Nightstriker,” she said. “This team…we had something good here, something people could look up to – and you ruined it. Not only that, you promised you’d function within the team, but you’ve gone off and done something solo, as usual. Ironic, isn’t it? You tried so hard to defeat the Giftgiver, but he ended up tainting you after all.”
“You are correct about one thing,” Nightstriker said. “I should have consulted the team. Still, this is bigger than mere superheroics, and they should understand that. But that’s my problem to deal with, not yours.”
“No, it’s my problem too. I’m just…no, I’m done arguing. What’s done is done. Now all we have to do is prepare for the fallout.” She gave him a curt nod. “Good luck, Nightstriker. You’ll need it.”
Then the Secretary of Superhuman Affairs turned away from him and marched out of the room, the door swishing shut behind her.
Nightstriker stared at the closed door for a few moments, and let the sudden silence in the room envelop him. Then he returned to bed and picked up the book he’d been reading.
But as he resumed reading, plans and contingencies flitted through his mind, and he analyzed and re-analyzed the various propensities, connections, and net worth of the various men and women he was attempting to bring down. There was a storm brewing, one that would make their clash with the Giftgiver look like a drunken bar-fight, and he needed to be prepared….
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