Hero Least Likely Series (Book 2): Van Houten Rising

by Michelinie, Jessica

  “You’re too humble.” She says, pulling away with a wolf’s grin. She leads us up to the doorway of her apartment building, fumbling for her keys in her jacket pockets for a moment before opening the door and letting us inside. We take the elevator up and finally arrive in her unit. As usual, it smells like a delicious combination of vanilla and pepper. A warm, familiar smell.

  “You know, I’ve heard talk that the new mayor wants to give you a key to the city. Have a big ceremony and all that. Just a rumor, of course, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens.” Alex sing-songs as she slips off her jacket and shoes. I do the same and follow her to her bedroom. Man, I’m tired. I hadn’t even really realized it until the walk home from the bar. Sure, two shots of whiskey don’t help, but I might need to scale back the late nights a little bit. Ah, who am I kidding? Crime doesn’t sleep. Guess that means I shouldn’t either.

  “Hmm,” I muse sleepily, collapsing on top of Alex’s far-too-comfortable bed. I love this bed. This bed has been very, very good to me. “A key, huh? Big party? Sounds... good...” And I’m halfway to sleepytown.

  I wake up some ten hours later feeling like I only just went to sleep. Ugh, I hate that feeling. Probably means I could sleep for another half-day. I roll over onto my stomach and reach around on the bed next to me. No Alex. Damn. I could really use a good morning cuddle. Or, afternoon as it may be.

  So, a morning to myself in Alex’s lux one-bedroom. I’m think I’m starting to get addicted to this bed. Turns out that NYPD pays pretty well which equals far better quality pillows and a mattress pad far superior to my own. Would be a thousand times better if Alex was here next to me, but alas. I guess having a nine to five job requires being somewhere from nine to five.

  I roll over in the empty bed and scoop up my phone from the side table. Ooh, a note is lying on top of my phone. A love letter from Alex, I presume.

  Coffee on the stove. Will try (and fail) not to think of you all day.

  Love, Alex

  Okay, I’m no sap, but I’ve got to admit there is something incredibly romantic about a handwritten note. Even something as simple as this. I run my fingers across the handwriting, a trace of Alex herself, and can’t help but smile. I set the note down and pick up my phone. 10:13 AM. I’ve got a couple of hours before I have to head over to Griffin’s for work.

  Well, first thing’s first. I pull up the Twitter app on my phone and sign in to Metalia’s official account. I had some major skepticism when Shia convinced me to make this account, but I’ve got to admit, it’s pretty efficient. People can report crimes to me the second they happen, and sometimes I can manage to get there before a crime has even finished. Also, it’s pretty fun interacting with my fans and detractors. I just have to be careful not to get my two accounts mixed up. There have been far too many close calls where I’ve almost replied to someone’s call for help with my Marie account.

  3:15PM @nlitened1: @officialMetalia carjacking on 3rd ave & 5th lady in a red beanie

  Took care of that one yesterday. Check.

  12:43AM @truluvr38: Just saw @officialMetalia beatin the crap outta someone, does

  she answer to anyone other than herself or???

  You’re just looking to stir up trouble @truluvr. I don’t beat people up. I apprehend!

  8:04AM @bronxbronxbaby I wonder what @officialMetalia does all day... she’s got to

  have a job to afford health insurance right?

  Ha. Health insurance is still a luxury I can’t yet afford. There’s about eight more mentions, but they’re a couple of days old, so nothing too pressing. I check out my DM’s but there’s nothing new there either. Oh, but that reminds me, Mrs. McAllister over in Williamsburg wanted me to pop by her apartment building and keep watch a couple times a month since she was broken into. I read over her message again before putting down my phone.

  Sometimes it’s kind of exhausting trying to keep up with everything this city wants from me. Maybe I could use a sidekick or two...

  I drag myself out of the bed with the promise of a strong cup of coffee. As I cross the living room into the kitchen, I swipe up the television remote off the couch. A little cartoons in the morning sounds like just the ticket. I dig around in Alex’s cupboards until I find a cup big enough to satisfy my caffeine addiction.

  Remote in one hand, coffee cup in the other. Lazy morning to myself is a go. I plop down onto the couch, which is just as suspiciously comfy as Alex’s bed, and channel surf for a few minutes. Cable TV is an absolute luxury. I haven’t had anything more than a DVD player since 2002. Then again, based on what I’m seeing, I’m not missing much. News, daytime talk shows, Star Trek reruns. Despite all my intentions of watching cartoons, I stop on today’s episode of The View. I have a weird obsession with Barbara Walters. You know what, scratch that. There’s nothing weird about obsessing over Barbara Walters.

  “Today we’re looking at up-and-coming tech giant Van Houten Industries and their non-traditional workplace. Van Houten Industries has burst onto the scene in the last five years with its expansive genetic research and its recent forays into biotechnology. With us now is Lexi Dayan, office morale booster at this millennial owned and operated corporation. Lexi, tell us, what is the day to day like at Van Houten Industries?” The topic isn’t exactly riveting, but Barbara holds my attention for a few moments.

  “Well, Barabara, for starters, we offer morning yoga and meditation classes for all of our employees. There’s an on-site juice bar, relaxation room, and aromatherapy spa–”

  Boring. Sorry, Barbara. I change the channel. Aha! Finally, Looney Tunes.

  Weird how watching cartoons makes time go by way faster than usual. Before I know it, I’ve got to get my ass up and ready for work. As much as I love working at Griffin’s, I wonder what it would be like to do full-time superheroing. Not sure how exactly I’d get paid, though. Charge people for saving them? Bill the city? Ha, what kind of creep would ever do that?

  I hop in Alex’s luxurious tiled shower and finally get dressed. I can’t help but take a sniff of Alex’s lotion on her bathroom counter. Smells just like her. Black Amber. This isn’t creepy, is it? I’m going to put the lotion down now.

  I slip on my headphones, slide out the door, and head off to work.

  I’ve got enough time to walk instead of take the subway, and on a rare sunny day like this I’d be crazy not to take that opportunity. The streets are bright and lively as farmer’s market vendors sell their produce, cars zoom by, buildings tower up above. I know I say it too much, but damn I love this city.

  CCCRRRKKSSSHHH!

  Usually, I love this city.

  Whatever that sound was I heard it through my headphones which means it was major. I whirl around, yanking my Sennheisers down to my shoulders. A mustachioed lawyer looking guy and a woman in yoga pants next to me are staring down the street to my right.

  I hear a chorus of ‘the hell was that?’ and ‘what the’s resounding from everyone. Urgh, it’s a little too early in the day for Metalia action. Please just let that have been a construction mishap. I make my way down the street, jogging a little, looking for the source, until–

  A black blur streaks out of a sidewalk café, sprinting down the street through a stoplight. Shit, they’re going to get hit. They’ve got to move, that car is coming. I’ve gotta do something.

  The figure holds up a device of some kind, like a tube, or I don’t know, something. A fireball shoots out of it and stalls the car that almost hits them. Fireball. Let me say it again: fireball. Not a word I was expecting to join my vocabulary ever. Once the figure slows down I can see it’s not a blur, but a person. A woman. She’s got a black shining helmet covering her face, but I can see her ponytail sticking out the back. The helmet is looks weird, like its made out of some kind of pliant material, but it looks really, really strong. Is it... armor? Is she wearing armor? That’s troubling. Most everyday criminals don’t have protective gear on. I wonder if she knew she’d run into me. Alright, no more help
less bystander. I need to intervene.

  I dive into a nearby alley and empty out the contents of my backpack like a madwoman. I struggle to shove my feet into my costume, slide the hood over my head, and pull up my mask. I really need to figure out a quicker way to do this. I throw the backpack down and hope it’ll be here when I get back. Can’t worry about it now.

  I zip up to the nearest fire escape, clamor up the building and sprint across the roofs. She’s only got a couple of blocks on me and it looks like she’s taking her sweet time. Like she’s having fun with this. Weird. She’s not much of a blur anymore, but she’s hightailing it down the street and sending waves of fireballs behind her. Can I just take a moment to acknowledge how bizzare my life has been in the last fifteen hours?

  “Watch out!” I cry down at a few stragglers right in the way of some raining fire. Fuck, they’re going to get hit. I dive down from the roof head first. I’ve got only a couple of seconds to push my palms out and slow my fall by aiming my magnesis at the cement. I land in handstand position and kick my legs down to re-orient. Upright, I dive for the two fear-paralyzed bystanders. Grabbing both by the shoulders, I pull all three of us down to the ground in a mess of tangled limbs.

  “Close one, huh?” I murmur. They look at me wide-eyed like they’re unsure if they should thank me or run away from me. They’re probably in shock. I’ll take that as a compliment.

  Well, no time to chat. I’m on my feet again in an instant and sprint down the street, staying grounded this time. I don’t think I’m faster than the blur, but she’s taking her time tossing fireballs wherever she can. Who the hell IS this chick?

  “Oooh, it’s the super-hero!” I hear her sing-song about half a block ahead, and on cue a massive wave of fire is sent my way. I stop running, hold up my arms up in front of me and send a blast of magnetic energy at the flame. The flame tempers as it hits my shield and falls to the ground. I take a second to examine whatever this thing is. Ah, literally a tennis ball on fire. Creative. What is my life?

  I sprint after her again. Gotta move faster. What if I can springboard myself from all these cars parked on either side of the street? Without more consideration, I reach outward and send a stream of energy to each car on my left and right side. Then, I take a few steps backward and imagine my energy acting like a giant rubber band. Aaaaand I let go and zip into the air like a giant skipping through the streets. Damn, that was fun. I should practice that move.

  I land just a few feet behind her and just... manage... to... got her! I grab her shoulder and we both go tumbling to the ground. The fireball device flies out of her hands while I wrestle her down onto the asphalt.

  “Points for effort,” I say, pressing a blanket of power on top of her and keeping her suit stuck to the ground, “but I think you misunderstood the assignment. You need a racquet to play tennis, not a gun.”

  “I hope you’re ready hero, because there’s more of us coming!” She growls up at me. Well, that’s concerning.

  “More what? Rogue tennis players?”

  “Hey, we’ll take it from here, Metalia.” I look over my shoulder and there’s at least six cops running towards me and waving me away. That’s my signal to hit the ol’ dusty trail outta here. I need to limit my time around NYPD before this big benefit fundraiser thingy so that no one inadvertently recognizes me.

  I look back down as I’m getting ready to leave and Fireball is cackling like there’s no tomorrow. Well, at least someone finds my jokes funny.

  I step out of the way as the police go through the song and dance of arresting her.

  Shit. I fish for the phone in my pocket and look at the time. I’m definitely late for work. With one last look at my mystery criminal woman, I jog off back to the alley where I left my backpack. I make sure no one sees me heading into the darkness and crouch down behind a stack of pallets. My backpack is still lying on the ground a few feet away, so I reach my hand out and it zips towards me.

  I go through another grueling and failed quick undressing cause hey, full body suit zippers are hard to manage on your own. When I’m finally back in my work clothes, I jog out of the other side of the alley to avoid being seen by any of the crowd who might have seen me in Metalia mode.

  It’s thirty-three after the hour when I throw open the back door of Griffin’s, panting after a near seven-minute sprint. If I’m lucky, Griffin isn’t here, out perusing oxtails at meat markets or something. If he’s holed up in his office distracted by a bunch of numbers then it’s quite possible I can sneak past him. I shove my backpack into one of the employee lockers and slip my apron over my head.

  I put one foot in front of the other and move as quietly as I can down the back hall towards the kitchens. I feel like I’m sneaking past Fluffy the three-headed dog.

  Okay, looking good. I don’t dare turn my head to see if Griffin is in his office as I walk by, but it appears I’m in the clear. I shuffle the last few steps into the kitchen and breathe a sigh of relief. Made it. Carter, you’ve done it ag–

  “Marie! My office. Now.”

  Griffin. Goddamnit. I get a sympathetic look from Junior as I begrudgingly turn to face the beast. He must have been in his office, or on the way there from the bathroom or something. Shit, shit, shit.

  I backtrack away from the kitchen and take a few steps down the hall to the doorway of his office. It smells like shrimp and sweat in here. I have a feeling Griffin sleeps in here far more often than he would have us believe.

  “Marie. You are late. Again.” He grumbles. He’s normally pretty frown-y, but he really doesn’t look happy.

  “Griffin, I know. I’m sorry, I know I said it wouldn’t happen again, but–”

  “This is the sixth time this month you’ve been late. Sixth! What is going on with you? You’re always coming and going throughout your shift, always with someplace else to be. I’m not interested in excuses. I’m interested in a chef who is dedicated to what she does.”

  “I am dedicated! I’m dedicated-girl. The most dedicated–”

  “You’re fired, Marie. I can’t have this anymore. I’m sorry. Really, I am. I don’t know what you are going through right now, but I advise you to get your priorities straight. I like you alot. You’ve done great things for us. But I need more.” I feel like I just got clocked in the face. Fired. I’ve never been fired from anywhere. I think I’ve been standing in his office gaping at him for a little too long because Griffin gives me a small nod as if to hurry me along. “I’ll mail your last check to you.”

  I’m numb. I feel like I’m on autopilot as I pull my apron over my head and hang it up on a hook by the lockers. I gather my things and step back out into the harsh light of the sun. I don’t think I’ve had a single fully formed thought yet. Fired. All because I was saving some people from a fiery death. All because Metalia is not on a schedule, but is needed at all different hours of the day. God, if only I could tell any of this to Griffin. If I could just make him understand why, maybe he would be sympathetic. I mean, I became Metalia in the first place because of Griffin’s. Maybe I should go back in there and explain to him what’s going on. Tell him about Metalia. No, no, you can’t do that. The risk would be too great.

  Maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s not like I could just suddenly stop spatchcooking a chicken to go hop into my onesie and save the day. Maybe this is for the best. With a flurry of emotions bubbling in my belly, I walk aimlessly away from the restaurant I’ve come to know and love. I don’t know where I’m going, but it doesn’t really matter. I think I just need a walk.

  Chapter Two

  I don’t do well in crowds. Alex knows this. Anyone who’s ever tried to drag me to anything resembling an amusement park or parade knows this. However, Alex Winters is pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to me, so if she wants me to spend a perfectly good Saturday evening rubbing shoulders with every cop in a thirty mile radius, then by god I’ll do it.

  NYC Safe City Benefit Dance! is written across a huge banner hanging from
the building facade. I feel like I’m in high school again. Okay. I can do this. If I can jump off really tall buildings, I can spend an evening surrounded by cops for the benefit of my girlfriend.

  It’s been four days since I was fired and I’ve moved through the stages of grief about as slowly as one might expect. I think I’m still at the anger stage because all I want to do is sit in the corner and drink whiskey. It’s arguable that the normal me would do that anyway, but grief me wants it especially badly. I got the expected sympathy from Alex and Shia, but I’m feeling pressed by financial woes that will certainly be making their way into my life in the near future. Rent, bills, food. I guess I need to get another job. I’m still too deep in my wallowing phase to have begun looking for new jobs. Three more days of self-pitying, then I’ll start the job hunt.

  I meander up the set of marble stairs outside of the massive, towering museum the benefit is being hosted at. Pretty building. Makes me actually want to devote more time to cultured things like art, or opera, or ice capades, or whatever. I take a moment to assess my reflection in a set of mirrors lining the entrance hall. This is a sort of formal affair, so I went with black dress pants, white t-shirt, and a black blazer. I arrange a few strands of hair out of my eyes and nod to my reflection.

  “Not half-bad for someone who just spent all evening crime-fighting.” I mutter.

  As usual, I’m late. It’s just something I, and Alex, have accepted as part of life as Metalia. Anything could happen at any moment and I’ve got to always be ready to take off at a moment’s notice. I’m really, really lucky Alex is so understanding about that, especially since she’s a virgo and for her being on time is late. My eternal tardiness could be a dealbreaker in some relationships, but at least she gets why it has to be that way. In fact, I’m glad she found out about my secret identity sooner rather than later. I can’t stand having to lie and sneak about, and clearly I’m not that good at it.