So Not a Hero (6 page)

“The Brickwall Gang?”

“Yeah. It’s him, Behemoth, and the Electro-Twins.”

“Nite’s always hated you, you know that?”

I laughed. “He made it perfectly clear while he was bashing me around like a tennis ball. But since I knocked him on his ass and handed him to a hero, I’m sure his dislike has moved to a whole new level. Anyways, Manpower said that there was an opening on the Good Guys. He insisted that I come down for an interview.”

Derek was silent for a few moments. When I turned to look up at him, he was staring with a sly little smile on his face. “I think you should do it.”

I scoffed. “You’re joking. Did you miss the point where I nearly killed a kid tonight? Do you see me trying to pull off being a superhero?”

“Yes,” he said as he nodded, “I actually do. Sure, you have anger issues, but that can be handled. Especially in a positive group environment.” He stared directly into my eyes. “Let me ask you this. What’s stopping you from trying?”

I thought about it for a second before shrugging. “Not a damn thing, I guess.”

    “There you go.”

CHAPTER 4: INTO THE HEROES’ DEN

The next day, a mere thirty hours after being tossed out onto the street, I stood in front of the main entrance of the Paulus Building wondering what the hell I was thinking.

The structure that served as the headquarters of the Good Guys was located in the middle of downtown Charlotte, in the heart of the business district, and looked like any of the other gleaming glass towers around it. The large window panels adorning the sides reflected the afternoon sunlight with a faint greenish-grey hue that hinted their being Omni-Plex rather than ordinary glass. Which, come to think of it, made sense considering who resided inside.

The Paulus Building was owned by Richard Paulus, one of the richest men on the East Coast. He was a billionaire trust fund kid who’d been rather successful picking the right companies to acquire and invest in. He was wealthy, easy on the eyes, and–according to rumors–very charming. He was also leader of the Good Guys, Captain Awesome. The name sounded like something a douche might call himself. I seriously hoped he wasn’t a douche.

Concessions have to be made when it comes to picking a code name. Twenty years ago, when Enhanced individuals started popping out of the woodwork, it seemed like every city sported a ‘Superman’ or a ‘Hulk’. Understandably enough, comic book companies got a little miffed. After all, when someone is causing damage and injury while using your copyrighted character’s moniker, it can tend to piss you off.

So the lawyers and pundits lobbied Congress like there was nothing more important under the sun than their clients’ intellectual property. It took less than a week for them to come up with the Enhanced Naming Convention Act. Basically, the ENCA said that unless officially sanctioned by the owners of said character, code-naming yourself after an individual already present in hero media won you an automatic five years’ stay at the Max.

An addendum, added a few months later, created the ENCA database. Every new hero and villain had their name added to the roster and unless someone died or retired, that name was off-limits to anyone else. I honestly felt sorry for the next person to decide that they wanted to be ‘Crushette’.

As I hovered in front of the double doors–the Double G symbol etched into each–the citizens of the city, on their way back from lunch or to a meeting, hurried past. Even though several of them mumbled about me standing in the middle of the sidewalk, none of them really gave me a second look. They had no clue that Crushette was back and standing there as indecisively as a preschooler.

I fidgeted while the debate about whether or not I was actually going to do this raged in my head. Had Mister Manpower’s offer been genuine? What if this was some sort of trap? No, I’d been out of play for a couple of years and was probably no longer on any hero’s radar. Plus, I’d done a pretty good job of keeping a low profile since I got out of the Max.

Except for that battle with Nite-Star. Oh, and destruction of personal property and communicating an Enhanced threat. Okay, so my profile wasn’t being kept as low as I’d hoped.

Still, I sighed and stared into the mirror-like surface of the doors at the girl who was either about to make the most logical decision in her life. Or the stupidest.

I reached for the handle and paused. Maybe I should have worn something other than jeans and a t-shirt. Even though my current wardrobe was less than extensive, the uber casual nature of my clothing didn’t come anywhere close to screaming ‘superhero’. Well, at least my hair was being cooperative today. Untamed bed-head was the last thing my slacker attire needed as a companion.

I pulled open one of the omni-plex doors, stepped into the lobby, and froze.

Apparently the opening had drawn a great deal of interest. Inside was a hero smorgasbord.

The lobby was packed with hopeful potentials, all eagerly awaiting their opportunity to prove they had what it took to be a member of the Good Guys. Some of them I recognized. Many, I didn’t. There were only a dozen or so chairs in the room, all fully occupied. As was the narrow padded bench running along one wall. Behind a tall wood and metal desk near the elevators, a six-armed receptionist answered multiple phone lines like a whirlwind.

I kept my head down and my face mostly hidden by my hair as I headed across the polished tile floor to the receptionist’s desk. When I cleared my throat, the multi-limbed brunette put down both of the phones she was holding and peered at me over the top of her 60’s retro cat’s-eye glasses. “Can I help you?” Her tone practically screamed that it wasn’t cool to just walk up to the counter like that and that helping me was not of the highest priority.

I glanced up and put on what I hoped was my friendliest, most disarming smile. “I’m Karen Hashimoto.”

She continued to stare at me so I leaned over and tried to see if my name was on some sort of list. She covered the appointment book in front of her with three hands and arched a brow. “Is there something you need, Miss Hashimoto?”

The silence that sprung to life behind me told me I didn’t need to turn around to feel everyone’s eyes on me. After all, I was the only one not sitting and being patient for their turn and that obviously warranted attention. Unwanted attention.

I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes on the woman before me. “Uh, Mister Manpower was fighting with the Brickwall Gang yesterday. And I kind of, sort of, lent him a hand. Then he said he thought I should come by.” Her brow remained arched and she pointedly ignored the ringing phone. “Uh … to meet everyone, I think. At two o’clock?” I hadn’t meant for the last bit to sound like a question, but the withering glance from the woman and the virtual crickets of the room behind me rattled my nerves.

The a red light flared into life on the top edge of her eyewear and swept over my face, momentarily filling my vision with little, floating spots. She glanced down at the computer terminal in front of her, neutral expression sliding down into a frown at what she was seeing. Probably my criminal record. Great.

I leaned forward a little more, lowering my voice. “Look, I know that it might look bad. But I promise, Mister Manpow–”

I was interrupted by someone’s hand clamping down on my shoulder in what might have been a painful, rather than just annoying, manner. “I think you might be in the wrong place at the wrong time, Crushette.”

I turned around to face a portly man wearing a suit of dark blue power armor and glaring at me. Mechanix. It would figure that one of the heroes present
would
have to be someone that I’d fought before. He took a step back and aimed the micro-cannon on one arm at me. Tiny servos whirled and hummed as the lights along the edges of his suit brightened. Behind him, several other wannabes stood up, watching the scene carefully.

I held up my hands slowly, palms out. The last thing I wanted to do was start a rumble here. “Hey, Mechanix. How you been? Is that a new suit of–”

He cut me off by blasting me in the face with the ionic cannon. The focused plasma beam knocked me backwards against the desk. The energy burst tossed my hair around in my face, disintegrated the upper portion of my t-shirt, and stung like a dozen bitch-slaps.

After about three seconds, the energy discharge ended and Mechanix lowered his arm to survey his handiwork. When he did, I pushed off the desk (now sporting a Karen-shaped dent) and punched him in the chest as hard as I could. The osmium steel breastplate crumpled inwards and the lights along the top of his attacking arm flickered and winked out. I guess he was still keeping the main power supply in the torso. Amateur.

The impact made him stumble a couple of clanking steps backwards and he shook off the stun and raised his other arm. But before he could fire again, I stepped forward and lashed out with a foot, kicking him right between his metal-clad legs. He shot up about ten feet into the air, groaning loudly over the sounds of his suit’s gyros trying to keep him upright.

I waited until he was almost back down and then punched him again, this time with both hands.  The armor plating across his chest cracked open and this time every light flickered and went dark. Mechanix zoomed in an arc across the lobby, pieces of metal flying off like the tail of a comet, and slammed into the wall next to the front doors. The man-sized crater he made in the concrete held him aloft like a piece of post-modern art.

The rest of the assembled heroes looked from Mechanix to me, as if trying to decide if this was a fight they wanted to get in on. I kept my hands balled into fists and narrowed my eyes at the lot of them. After a few tense seconds of Mexican Standoff, none of them made any move to attack. I turned back to the wide-eyed receptionist whose mouth was hanging open. “Karen. Hashimoto. I have an appointment.”

She nodded and snatched up one of the phones. “Yes, Miss Hashimoto. I’ll let Mister Manpower know that you’re here.”

“Thanks so much.” I smiled pleasantly, as if I hadn’t just punched a superhero across the room like a volleyball.

I walked over to a mostly-deserted spot near the elevators and sat down on the floor. I kept my eyes away from everyone else’s and tried to act as relaxed as I could, despite the stares I could feel and the buzzing whispers I could hear. I refused to give them obvious notice. I’m sure it was a big mystery as to why a criminal such as myself was in attendance.

The ding of the elevator caught my attention and when the doors slid open, Mister Manpower emerged. The Good Guys’ co-leader was wearing a pair of khakis and a polo, making me feel a little better about showing up in casual attire. Of course, the t-shirt was destroyed and only the black sports bra underneath kept me from rampant indecency.

He glanced around and spotted me on the floor. His brow furrowed and he looked me up and down before asking, “Are you all right?”

I quickly smoothed my hair. “I’m fine. Just a little misunderstanding with Mechanix.” I put on my most innocent smile. “Old business. Nothing to worry about.”

His eyes shifted over to the large dent in the far wall–and the unconscious hero on the floor beneath it–and back.

“Well, okay then,” Manpower said and shook his head. “You seem to be hell on your wardrobe, Karen.”

I shrugged and pulled the remaining pieces of my tee off and balled them up in my hand. Thankfully I’d had the foresight to wear a sports bra today. “Wasn’t tight enough.” I glanced over at a nearby hero who was alternating between snickering at my ruined shirt and ogling my near-nakedness. I clenched my jaw and took a step towards the pudgy, green and gold clad fellow, wondering how funny he would find a shattered femur or two.

Manpower, put his hand on my arm, drawing my attention away from wondering if the comedian needed a punch in the nose back to him. “Come on, Karen. Everyone’s waiting upstairs.” He leaned over to the receptionist. “Joelle,” he said in a far less upset voice than I would have expected. “Please cancel Mechanix’s three o’clock.” The hero nodded to the man in the damaged armor across the room. A pair of other heroes were assisting him with standing upright. “I don’t think he’s going to be up for it.”

“Yes, sir,” the six-armed girl said, mouth stretching into a huge smile. “Should I see if he wants to reschedule?”

Manpower shook his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

We stepped into the elevator and when the doors had closed, Manpower turned to me. “Just to prevent any misunderstandings, heroes don’t usually make it a habit to beat on other heroes.”

I held up a hand. “Whoa. Mechanix came after me. I was just checking in with the … Joelle girl. Then he’s all up in my face in full-on ‘Crushette must be stopped’ mode and then he opened fire on me.”

Manpower nodded. “Yes, I saw the security feed. I’m merely suggesting that if you run into any other heroes you might have had previous dealings with, that you inform them that you aren’t a villain anymore.”

“What about when they don’t give me a chance to explain? Mechanix sure didn’t.”

“Then maybe you could dodge or something? Or at least give a little pause before you inflict internal damage.”

I crossed my arms over my chest again and watched the numbers on the panel continue to climb as we slid smoothly upwards. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He smiled and the car stopped and the doors opened, he gestured for me to go first.

The room I stepped into was devoid of features; smooth white walls, floor, and ceiling. The doorway opposite the elevator was easily ten feet across and ringed by metal circles spaced every few inches. I glanced back over my shoulder at him. “Feebs?” I asked, using the nickname for Force Field Beam Emitters

He stepped out and stood next to me. “Fifth Generation. Even Colonel Tank couldn’t get through them.”

I wasn’t really all that impressed. Feebs had been standard issue all over the Max. With a flip of a switch, guards could block off a section as big or as small as they wanted. The beam generators were immune to magnetic and technopathic manipulation and their solid photon emissions were stronger by far than anything that could be cast from metal. The perfect method for containing Enhanced individuals.

“Intruders that come up the elevator can be detained here until dealt with,” he continued. “Every Good Guy has his or her biometrics scanned into the mainframe and anyone trying to get in unaccompanied by one of us will set off the security.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You forgot the walls. If I was trying to get in, I’d just go through the walls.” I reached out and rapped my knuckles on the nearest one. A semi-hollow sound came back to me. “Those wouldn’t even slow me down.”