Posted by Fin Fang Foom: Now On A Monthly Schedule on November 23, 2001 at 18:35:01:
Further Adventures of the Lair Legion #3
Troubled Spirits
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One day you'll look back
And you'll see
Where you were held
How,
by this love,
While you could stand there
And not move on this moment...
Follow this feeling
U2, "Mysterious Ways"
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One of the downsides to Parodiopolis' wild lifestyle: it never knew who it was going to wake up next to.
For once, the postmodern metropolis was subdued. An aura of exhaustion had crept across the majestic cityscape, leaving everything quiet and calm. All of its usual morning energy had been drained out of it. Maybe it was because of the sleet, which had been coming down for thirty-six straight hours. Maybe it was because of the low-hanging sky, which wavered between obsidian and a watercolor-grey. Maybe it was because everyone was tired--late last night, NTU-150 had been forced to discharge his armor's solar energy, after it had been quantum-spiked by a light-powered villain. The ensuing, laser-show-like battle could be seen for a dozen miles.
At quarter-after nine in the morning, a faint dawn was realized over the city. The sun had been trying to puncture the silvery clouds since eight-thirty, but until that moment, it hadn't had any luck. A small hole was made in the sky, and the sun poured through. It lit up everything from 52nd street to the southernmost edge of city center. If you could see Parodiopolis from a distance, the beam actually looked like a solar spotlight; or like the popularized image of "God shining down".
Instead of being happy that the sun was out, the citizens of Parodiopolis flinched at the brightness--most had been woken up by last night's impromptu solar flare, and were now quite tired. Even without that, just living or working in the city added another layer of effort to the lives of the populace. A good deal of newsworthy events happened at night, and catching up with them every morning proved to be a challenge. As it was often life-threatening information, they had to go out of their way to keep up with current events.
A new arrival to the city was doing just that. He was in the penthouse suite at Pioneere Plaza, the city's second-largest hotel. It was skyscraper-sized, standing in the middle of an ocean of high-rent office buildings. The building was mostly grey, though its front and back were adorned with archway-shaped segments of black, reflective glass. It looked like a pair of closed double-doors: tall, narrow, and rounded off at the top. The glass extended almost all the way up the building. When seen from afar, it looked like an entrance to a man-made train tunnel.
The lights were off in the penthouse suite. One of its two occupants had dragged a small, round table across the carpet, over to the wall-sized window. The sun had once again vanished behind the cloud-cover, so the natural light faded out after a few feet. The occupant positioned a cushioned chair by the table, and sat down. Half of the table and a section of blue carpeting could be seen, but everything else was dark.
This was only the second time he'd been in Parodiopolis. He wasn't an American, and though he had corporate interests in the country, he did most of his business from Europe. He wore a nondescript black suit, and his brown hair was done in an expensive style. His slacks were perfectly pressed, his hazel eyes sparkled, and his shoes were actually shiny. He was comfortably in his forties, looking neither young or old.
Antoine Duvall removed a credit-card-shaped object, about a half-inch thick, from his jacket pocket. Setting it on the table, he flicked a switch, and the tiny radio came to life.
Time to catch up on the news.
One of C-Tech's plants had been shut down, mainly for health reasons. An "anonymous informant" had tipped off the FBI. Strangely, a few C-Tech employees apparently just woke up at six in the morning, and decided to come forward and testify against C-Tech. Nevermind that most of them sounded like they'd just seen a ghost.
SPUD's hovercarrier had been forbidden from flying near the city, as it contained a prison wing, and federal prisons weren't allowed in city limits--or over city limits, apparently. Lawyers from both SPUD and citizens' groups had booked a considerable amount of court time to deal with the subject.
A block of downtown had been taped-off, as bizarre char-marks and a partially-crushed sidewalk had been discovered there. Maybe a high-tech vehicle had crashed there, or some kind of energy-blast had hit it...those things tended to give off strange energy, and the city had a "Better safe than sorry" policy. Icarus Innovations was sending in an investigation team, complete with a full-spectrum scanner.
A few more dead thugs had been found, and someone who roughly fit the description of Messenger had been seen in the area. City officials were quick to assure the media that he has to be dead, and that it's probably a copycat. "Serial killers and vigilantes both have copycats--not much difference, if you ask me," said an unnamed bureaucrat.
Duvall turned the radio off. The NTU incident hadn't been the lead-off item of the news update? It hadn't even made the first two minutes...how major did something have to be, to get mentioned?
This was a different experience for him. He was used to operating out of his huge cabin in Germany, in the middle of a mountain range. As a banker, he dealt with a lot of problems every day, but nothing this...this American. This in-your-face.
Parodiopolis was where it was all happening. It was basically the unofficial capital of the world--the culture, the corporations, the superheroes, the lifestyle; they were all on the cutting-edge. He always got reports about the city, but he'd never thought about what it must be like to live there. In the middle of the chaos. Arguably the flashpoint for the battle he was currently engaged in.
Duvall straightened in his chair--he wasn't alone. The air was still, and the floorboards weren't creaking. But, an icy feeling had seeped into the room, like someone had opened a window.
"Thanks for not scaring me to death," Duvall said to the apparently-empty room.
"Why do you say that?" The Dark Knight remained in the shadows, but he spoke clearly, so Duvall could get an impression of where he was.
Duvall turned his chair towards the voice. "Because you're good, you could've gotten in here without me noticing. Thanks for giving me the hint. Anyway...I kind of guessed that you'd show up."
"I'm assuming that you know why I'm here."
"Yeah, but before we get to that, you need to know everything about me." Duvall glanced over his shoulder. "We'll have to be quiet, though--my daughter's asleep in the next room...she was clubbing all night..."
"I saw--and I already checked, she's sound asleep. Breathing rhythms show that she won't wake up for another hour or so."
Duvall was a bit creeped out by that, but he kept going. "You probably know the basics...French by descent, my family's lived in Germany for a century or two, our business is mostly run from Hapsburg, over in Austria..."
"Banking family on the level of the Rothschilds or Rockefellers," DK noted. "I've heard of you, though you've been keeping a low profile. Interesting that you're based out of Hapsburg, lots of rumors about old-money and old-religion there...Knights Templar, the Illuminati, Solomon's hidden riches."
Duvall agreed and started to speak--
"--not to mention the angelic half-breeds that have been involved in Hapsburg's financial scene since the 1400's or so," DK casually interjected. "But you know that, as you're one of them, aren't you?"
Several awkward moments passed. Duvall's hands were shaking, but he shrugged off the weighty issue. "If you've ever read the Gospels, Christ talked more about money than most other things."
"Almost always in combination with charity. Like how you've been a sort of social visionary...giving money to medical research, funding politicians that are into radical ideas like improving education and making sure that health guidelines are actually enforced. For a billionaire, you're remarkably generous."
Duvall threw up his hands. "Hey, you guys are keeping us safe from physical threats--I'm just helping to pick up the slack. If we had humanitarian politicians instead of superheroes, I'd be funding a military force. Besides, you're a bit well-off, yourself...and there are quite a few mysteriously-funded youth centers and soup kitchens in Gothametropolis York..."
"As I asked before--I'm assuming that you know why I'm here."
"Because I gave a hundred-million to the Bautista Foundation's world-hunger efforts?" DK said nothing, so Duvall assumed that he was correct. "If they wanted me to give more, I'd suggest sending a different LLer...preferably a young woman in a skintight suit..."
DK ignored that last comment. "Fin likes us to have allies, and I think you're one. I'm just making sure you know that. If you ever need our help, use the frequencies that I'm uploading into your laptop. We're all in the same fight--we might as well support each other."
"You already did that for my family, didn't you?" Duvall leaned forward, while DK remained silent. "Shortly after World War II, my mother was kidnapped. A series of strange coincidences led to her getting saved. Whoever did it...well, they weren't a superhero in the modern sense. No costume, no codename...the kidnappers weren't even sure what had happened. They just saw this guy in jeans and a denim jacket, with a regular facemask. The cops and the media didn't seem to know about it, but my mom saw him."
DK didn't seem to care. "All very interesting."
"People make up mythology, right? To explain weird stuff that happens, like my mom somehow getting saved. The real answer is more complex, so they just say that there's a common thread in all this stuff, like a conspiracy theory. Kind of like the old 'dark knight' legends, about the wandering philosopher who had his life taken away from him. He was a common denominator to a lot of old legends...I'm sure they just threw him in to add credence to their made-up story...but, anyway, I always wondered about my mom."
"You have friends in high places...why not ask them?"
"I'm a distant cousin, at best." Duvall sighed, and stood up. "Look...I'm sorry to throw that at you, but I always wondered about it. Right now, I think we're on the verge of something that could really be good for humanity. The work that the heroes are doing, especially the LL--I want to support it in any way I can."
"You weren't like this before. Why the change of heart?"
"I didn't used to like superheroes. I thought that they were just about protecting the...the short-term. But I've seen what you've done for society...and I'm guessing that if you're with them, they're planning for the future. I want to help."
"You'll get to."
Duvall rubbed his neck, scratching at an itch that was always in the back of his mind. "You should know...genetically, a good portion of me is angelic, but I'm not immortal. You probably already guessed. I'm training my daughter to take over for me, one day. And, ahh, I was going to ask you a favor, about that. Her name's Joy...I was hoping that she could meet the LL. She hasn't seen the big picture, yet. That's why we came here--I want her to see what Parodiopolis is like. What the future is like."
"I'll contact you."
"Thanks, I--"
He didn't finish the sentence--he realized that he was alone.
He pressed his cheek against the window, looking down at the city, and gave a disbelieving "huh". A smile forced its way to his lips. "Welcome to the round table."
------------------------
"And Bry said, let there be light!"
On the surface, it was a rain-forest like any other. A legion of leafy trees were sticking out of ten feet of water, which seemed to have been finger-painted with stains of chlorophyll. It vaguely resembled the look that ice cream got when it melted along with syrup--thick, rich, color-textures all bleeding into each other. Green and clear and brown and a very faint blue...
The forest floor couldn't be seen, except for a few hills that rose out of the rainy-season lakes. Sweating vines hung lazily from branches and tree-trunks. Strangely, there were no animals. Exotic, rainbow-colored birds were absent, there was no undercurrent of insect-buzzing, not even any snakes slithering through the water.
It was somewhat dark, as the leaf-canopy filtered out most of the sunlight. Strange light-designs were created on the trees, in those places where the leaves parted. It also shone on the water, which was remarkably still--until the shaking started.
One by one, healthy leaves somehow snapped and took suicidal plunges into the water. Violent splashes rocked the trees, and broken branches sank to the forest floor. Light danced across the water, as the topography of the tree-canopy kept changing. Then, the sun was blotted out entirely.
A soft, maracca-like sound could be heard. It grew to a sifting, rumbling noise. Charcoal-grey sand poured into the rain forest, soaking up the water like a sponge, and gently but firmly washing the trees away from their roots. Both wood and leaves dissipated after a few moments of contact with the stuff, turning a similar color, and then being assimilated.
In a matter of minutes, the rain forest was gone; having been replaced by sloshing charcoal mud. Everything went dark. It hit what must have been a wall, and reversed directions--but in its wake, it left a huge, snowy slope. The sky was once again blue, though the sun was much more faint. However, it was warm--easily sixty-five degrees.
At the top of the hill was a small cabin--Troia stepped out of it, taking her red hair out of its ponytail. She was wearing a custom white-and-blue ski-suit, which CSFB! had gotten for her. He'd said that his friend Sylvia had made it. Donar was in his usual layers-of-black-leather look, Mjalcom in one hand and a six-pack in the other.
Troia squinted at the sudden direct light. "What'd you say this was, again?"
Bry was just a few steps behind them--he was in his Goldeneyed costume, a black bodysuit with his natural, gold-glowing eyes shining through. "Jamie Bautista made it--it's a terraforming room, for eco-experiments. But he said we could use it for whatever we wanted..."
"How does this all fit in one room!? I mean, I know that LL Mansion has a lot of sub-basements, but this is crazy..."
Donar picked up a handful of snow and sprinkled it in his dark hair. "Thou shouldst not worry about it--let us make merry and enjoy it. Our thanks, golden one, for thy tech-help."
"Hey, Enty showed quite a few of us how to use it, no problem."
Troia thanked him as well. "You and Lisette should come down here and try this, sometime..."
"Uhh, yeah, well--"
Troia suddenly remembered something. "Oh, right!" She cut him off, reached through the cabin's open door, and produced a pair of skis. Addressing Donar, she said "I hope I guessed your size right..."
"The Oldmanson brought his own." Donar tossed Mjalcom down in the snow, and stood on it. "Didst always prefer snowboarding." With that, he took off down the hill.
"Wait up!" Troia allowed herself to fall in the snow, and struggled to put her skis on. "Let's just hope that Finny can handle the office for a few hours, so we won't be interrupted...not that I'll ever be that lucky."
G-Eyed was still searching for a response. Thankfully, he didn't have to give one, as Troia soon took off after Donar. Breathing a sigh of relief, he teleported to above-ground portion of the mansion.
He reappeared on the second story, where the residential quarters were. It had bronze, black-flecked carpeting, and elegant light grey walls. Paintings and statues lined the walls. But, in the hall outside his room, he found himself landing in a pile of what appeared to be dirty laundry. But it was all the same color--yellow.
Standing up, a yellow trench-coat smacked him in the face. Then another. And another. Muffled voices were coming from the mansion's many unused bedrooms. Another coat was flying at him, but he ducked. "Hey, watch it!"
Finny's head poked out of the doorframe. "Uhh, sorry. We're trying to clean up a little."
"What is all this stuff?"
"Visionary had a lot of back-up coats. It's like Superman or Pee-Wee Herman--he's got an entire closet full of them. Actually, several closets. We're trying to figure out exactly how much space we have in the mansion, so we're going from room to room..."
Hatman walked out of the room, clipboard in hand. He could almost be mistaken for a "normal"--he wore jeans, a white hockey-jersey-like shirt that had a big H on it, and had a blue homemade cape tied around his neck. At the moment, he wasn't wearing a hat, so his black hair was showing. "Actually, you can help...you want to teleport this over to Visionary?"
"I would, but I have to get to work--Lisa's got me alphabetizing her files, and it's taking forever...but if I get done with it, I can do research work on her latest case..."
Hattie shrugged. "Can you drop it off on your--" Bry vanished. "--way over."
Finny sighed, staring at the pile of coats. "We might as well keep it here, I guess...Visionary'll be back eventually. No way that they'll leave me in charge of everything, forever. They wouldn't. Uh-uh."
Hattie took a breath, his eyes slightly widening in disbelief--it looked like he was doing his best not to say something. Nothing worse than a dragon in denial. "So, um, what do we have scheduled for today?"
"Well, let's see...we got the morning training session out of the way, all I can think of is that our new liason is coming over. Amber St. Claire, cabinet member for Superhuman Affairs. DK checked her out--she's clean."
Hattie read the clipboard some more, before something else came to him. "I talked to Exile this morning...he said that he'd be around more often. He's on monitor duty. But he was kind of...I don't know. Saying how he might as well do monitor duty, because he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do..."
Finny tried to pick up all of the coats at once, but they kept slipping through his grasp. "Are he and Valeria still...?"
"I'm not sure--and I'm not sure about Bry and Lisette, either. I told her she looked nice, and she kind of flipped out on me, saying how she didn't look any different from before. I don't know why she would look different, but I hadn't seen her around here for days. She used to be in and out of Bry's room all the time."
Finny started putting the coats into a less-wide pile. "Help me remember, we've got a dinner to go to--you and I are invited to some Bautista Foundation thing."
Hattie got a slightly-worried, questioning look on his face. "You just want me to go...?"
"Why would--?"
"Well, Lania's been speaking out for the Foundation, and she'll probably be there..."
"Oh, that!" Finny said cheerfully, laughing. "No, no, that's not, it isn't a problem. We're fine. We're...well, we aren't really a 'we' at the moment, I don't think, unless she decided we are again, without telling me about it, and she does that sometimes..."
Finny was saved by a new arrival. Trickshot rounded the corner--he was in plainclothes; a tucked-in black t-shirt and blue sweatpants. As usual, his blond hair and goatee were shortly and neatly trimmed. They started to ask him to lend a hand, but saw that he was talking on one of the mansion's cel phones--it was color-coded a dark green.
"Yeah, I'd love to...just set up a time, and I'll be there...we can discuss salary after the trial run...no, my LL schedule shouldn't conflict, I always have a few free hours in the afternoon."
Oblivious to them, Trickshot walked right past the pile and went into his room, slamming the door.
"Oh, God, what's he up to now?" Finny groaned quietly. "I really hope that Roni Y. Avis isn't trying to get him to do commercials for his 'investment company' again...we barely talked him out of it the first time. We might need to give him the 'You represent the LL, people trust us, don't take advantage of that or claim to speak for us in advertising' speech."
"Speaking of PR...did you ever get in touch with someone to take over Cheryl's old job?"
"Yeah, Jamie said we could sub-contract one through the Bautista Foundation. They already work with a few press-agent groups, and said they'd find one for us."
Finny wrapped his arms and wings around the pile of coats. "Well, alright, one room down, and, uhh, a hundred or so more to go. But at least we'll have some idea of how much space we have."
Hattie glanced past Finny--Sorceress was approaching behind him. "Do you really need me for this? Whitney and I were going to go wash the Lairjets..."
Finny's faced scrunched in confusion. "We have built-in water-cannons for that, down in the hangar. Why would you want to get all wet and--"
Whitney cleared her throat. Finny turned to greet her, and saw that she was wearing cut-offs that she'd stolen from Daisy Duke, and a tight, white t-shirt. Despite his best attempt not to look, he couldn't help but notice that no bra straps were visible. That answered that.
"I dyed my hair again! Back to brown..." She bowed her head so Finny could see.
"Very nice," he agreed.
"Don't be alarmed if we seal off one of the mini-garages for a few hours...just so someone won't wander in and, ahh, get wet..."
"Understood."
Finny didn't want to do this job alone, but he knew that it'd benefit the team. A large part of Hatman's deputy-leader duties involved keeping the team's emotions in check, as dragons didn't have people-skills (unless eating was involved, and Finny wasn't that kind of dragon). Hattie's down-to-earth, everyman nature kept the team anchored, especially when Finny got too intense or high-strung. And to do that, Hattie needed to be relaxed. Being loved by Whitney probably went a long way towards Hattie's happiness, so he got "excused absences" to spend quality time with Whitney.
Most of the time, Finny guessed that the Bad Thing wasn't involved--today being a notable exception. But Whitney seemed to get a kick out of everyone thinking otherwise: she was disturbingly comfortable with her sensuality, and loved to tease Jay in front of everyone. So, Finny lost a deputy-leader for a few hours, but he got a better one back, in exchange.
At least, that's what DK had told him. For most of his life, Finny had been (relatively) fine and able to function without any love, but he imagined that those who were loved more often got spoiled.
They just kept standing there. Finny wondered what they were waiting for. "Oh, right, I'm leader, you need my permission or something. Yeah, go ahead. I can do the rest of this by myself."
Hattie started to turn around, but he seemed to suddenly remember something. "By the way, they found an old World War I biplane in a Lairjet hangar...no idea how it got there..."
"Um, okay."
As they skipped off, he lugged the coats halfway down the hall before he realized that he didn't have a place to put them. "The glamorous life of a superhero..."
----------------------
"Enter."
The room was awash in darkness, until the door slid open. A rectangle of light stretched through, reaching to the room's lone occupant. He was a thin man, wearing a navy blue sweater, along with lighter bluejeans. He had messy, but combed-back red hair, with patches of white in it. Animated features matched his cheerful disposition.
A silhouette stood in the doorframe. "You always stand around in the dark?"
"Absolutely. Light is for slackers."
"Vampire?"
"Not quite, no."
"What'd you say your name was?"
"I didn't. But if you'd like you, can call me Crickett. Bit of an inside joke, that."
The new arrival took measured paces, entering the room. His slacks and long coat were tan, while his shirt and hair were black. Though he was caucasian, his skin had a slightly dark tint to it. He was tall--easily six-foot-five--and built like a running-back. "What's the punchline?"
"I'm a professional conscience. Y'know, Jiminy Cricket? 'Let your conscience be your guide'?"
"Huh. What do you want with me, then?"
"I'll get to that in a second. But first, keep in mind that my definition of 'conscience' may be different than most. I'm an assistant, an emotional sounding board for my boss..."
"Keep going." Crickett looked surprised, so the man explained. "Some assassins just want to know who to kill, but I like to know more about the situation. There's a lot of variables in this city, and not being fully-informed can mean instant death."
"My boss...well, he's got the mind down to a science. Because of that, he's basically emotionless. He sees physics and chemistry where other people see feelings. I give him, y'know, insight. Most recently, I agreed with him in that he needs to kill the universe."
"That's always fun. Not much of a conscience, are you?"
"I consider myself a credit to my profession," Crickett said, unabashed.
"Is that what you're hiring me for?"
"In a roundabout way. But first--you don't have a problem with that, do you? We don't need an 'I'm a criminal, but you can't destroy my home' type."
The man shrugged. "I can always find another universe."
"Alrighty then," Crickett pressed on. "My boss is building the perfect body. It needs to be tough enough to survive the certain-something that'll destroy the universe. We're collecting a piece at a time--kinda like Frankenstein."
"You need me to get some second-hand anatomy?"
"Exactly. And remember, my boss has mental powers--if you try to talk, he can end you."
"Relax, I'm a professional."
"That's what I've heard. The Stalker Society is an impressive group to belong to, Trackster..."
The hunter crossed his arms. He didn't act like it was any big thing. "If you think I'm so good, why did you lie about us meeting alone?"
When his hands came out of his long coat, they were holding two items. One was a black, metallic cylinder, which quickly extended into a spear. The other was a round, tan shield, rimmed with black. On either side of him, he heard footsteps.
Crickett opened his mouth to say something, but by then, it was too late.
Trackster threw the shield one way, and pointed the spear the other. The shield flew through the air--as it went, it unfurled a thin wire from its edge. Trackster held the end of it.
The shield flew past the left ear of a man in the darkness, bounced off the wall, and returned past his right ear. Wire had been coming out of the shield, but it stopped, and grew taut. When the shield returned, the man's neck was in the way of the razor-sharp cord. Decapitation was instant.
The spearhead fired off, puncturing the chest of the second man, and exploding a split-second after that.
Altogether, it had taken about four seconds. A new spearhead slid into place; it was glowing with purple energy. The wire retracted back into the shield, and he pointed the spear at Crickett.
"Again: Why did you lie about us being alone?"
"Because we are."
The bodies fell into the light. Instead of blood, crackles of electricity leaked out of them. Furthermore, they were both dead ringers for Crickett.
"I'm more of a personality than a person. I jump around in my bodies. Technically, I was the only person in here."
"Artificial intelligence?"
"I hate that term--makes me sound dumb. But, yes."
"I'm assuming this was a test of my skills?"
"No, actually--they were doing some work. As I said, I don't need light to see. But hey, having a sample of your work doesn't hurt."
Trackster barely frowned. "Sorry about that."
Crickett walked over to the disembodied head. "Don't worry--it makes a good visual aid. I need you to kill one of the Lair Legion."
Despite the jaded-professional demeanor he employed, Trackster gave a double-take.
"You shouldn't be surprised--we already told you we're gonna kill the universe. We're nothing, if not ambitious."
"Which one?"
Crickett tossed the head in the air, catching it when it came down. "I've always wanted to say something like this," he commented. "Bring me the head of Hatman."
-------------------
"Again!"
In a soft-lit room covered with silver tiles, a shadowy individual dropped from above. He was in a black bodysuit that left no skin visible, with a black cape; the edges lined in a dull orange. A metallic, orange oval surrounded the area where his face would be, though only a pair of blank eyes were there. It wrapped around his chin, and the circle was completed at his forehead. Two thin "ears", made of the same orange metal, rose out of section of oval that went over his real ears. His silhouette looked like a certain other vigilante, but The Dark Knight was his own person.
He held out his Knightstick, revealing the orange, metallic bands around his forearms. Similar bands were around his ankles. Liquid metal rippled out of the small weapon, forming a bo-staff.
The Dark Knight glared at the other person in the room. "Let's see what you've got."
His opponent had a similar weapon--an antique-looking cane. This orange-costumed, red-haired kid, for once, had his feet firmly planted on the ground. Drawing on months of experience, Nats gave a firm "Uhh...okay".
He brought the cane down, but The Dark Knight easily parried it. Continuing that motion, his staff swept under Nats' feet, and the young hero was knocked to the floor--almost.
An inch before he hit, he stopped, and hovered. "Sorry, sorry, I know you said 'no powers', but I couldn't help it..."
"No, that's a good instict to have. Your abilities need to be second-nature..."
Nats floated to a standing position. "They are! Well, flying is, anyway. When it was the only power I had. But now I have this fire-cane, and some telekinetic abilities...I should really be training with those..."
"You will be--I know that Exile's powers aren't an exact match, but he can help you with the TK, and Finny can show you how to use fire as a weapon. Sometimes, you're in a situation where you lose your powers. So, you need to know how to use your cane to hit people."
"That's, um. I'm not complaining, but that's a bit unfair. Your staff is bigger, so it has more reach..."
"You'll be going up against people who want to kill you, with guns and other long-range weapons, not to mention hand-to-hand weapons that aren't exactly the same size. Realistically, you'll rarely fight someone who has a cane, staff or sword that's precisely as long as yours. They'll have long staffs, machetes...so, you need to train in an unfair way."
Nats leaned against the wall. "I don't know...there's so much to learn...maybe I shouldn't try to use these new powers for awhile. Somebody might get hurt--myself included."
The Dark Knight shook his head. "You took to flying pretty easily, I don't see why this should be any different. You may not like who your father is, but a certain kind of talent runs in your family--and you have some of the best teachers in the world. Even outside of the LL. NTU and DarkHwk have been flying and energy-blasting people for years, I'm sure they could help."
"Huh. Yeah, I guess that's true..."
The Dark Knight quietly sighed--when it was up to him to give self-confidence to its members, the team had to be in trouble. Superheroes tended to get lost in their own little worlds, and forget the facts. But as a detective, it was easy for him to see through that, and remind them of the truth: namely, that they are sort of incredible.
"This is gonna sound stupid, but...thanks for being here. I'd feel really lame going up to Donar or Hatman and saying that I'd like to get more training. They seem to have it all together...girlfriends, they're really powerful, experienced, big and imposing..."
"That's the first time I've ever been described as approachable."
Nats grinned. "That...that was almost a joke. Wow."
Underneath his mask, DK smirked, though doing it for a non-cynical reason was out-of-character for him. "Don't think of Donar and Hatman as distant--they're two of the most down-to-earth people I know. This lifestyle takes all kinds. Some are like them--the classic hero, confident and tough. I'd actually put CSFB! and Whitney in that category, as well. Others are probably about where you are--young, struggling to find your place."
"I guess so..."
"Goldeneyed and Exile are like that--they have potential, but getting there isn't easy. Power, skill, relationships, experience...they have those things in spades, getting more every day. Trickshot's like that too, though he's older than most of the team. Sometimes it's rocky, but they're on their way. They're way ahead of Finny and I--more well-developed, more...normal. You'll be where they are in a few years."
"Really? Cool..." Nats thought about Bry and Derek's lives, and tried to picture himself having problems with his beautiful girlfriend. But, he couldn't imagine how he could have any problems in that situation. "What about you and Finny? And Ziles?"
"We're a combination of addicts and prisoners. We're doing what we want to, what we might be the best at, but not because we have a choice. She's got a better shot at a happy life than either of us, though. Finny and I will be in this lifestyle until the end."
"No offense, but I'm surprised that you know this much about interpersonal stuff..."
"I've always been perceptive. That's why I've been a detective, and...other things, in my lifetime. Besides, I gave you pretty generalized descriptions."
A pinging sound echoed through the training chamber: a flat-screen hologram popped out of the air, filled with readings.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, sirs, but we have something that might need investigating." It was the dignified, overly-formal voice of EDWIN, the mansion's current computer system. "You're the closest to it, so I notified you first..."
DK glanced over the screen. "Notify Finny, and tell him that Nats and I are looking into it. We'll contact him if we need anything."
"Understood."
-----------------
"Mail call!"
A green-and-orange blur ricocheted through the mansion's residential section, slamming into Finny, as well as the pile of yellow coats in his arms. Seconds later, Finny and CrazySugarFreakBoy! were sprawled out on the ground, coats raining down on them. CSFB! gave him a dopey, apologetic grin.
Finny tried to look angry, though it was difficult, as he had a coat draped over his head, which gave the illusion of blonde pigtails. Despite himself, he reached out for CSFB!, preparing to throttle some sense into him--
"Ahh! Don't hurt the mail!" CSFB! hid behind a large blue sack, which was the shape of a rolled-up sleeping bag, and easily four feet tall.
The anger passed, and Finny stood up. "That's a lot of mail...it was scanned, right?"
"Your super-paranoia can be at ease...no shapeshifters, shrunken-down-people, listening devices, poisoned ink, mystical curses..."
"How do we sort it out, anyway? Just dump it on the floor?"
"Sort it out? This is all mine!! The rest is down in the mail-room."
"...we have a mail-room?" Finny looked perplexed. A beat passed. "You have fans?!"
"Yes and yes. Fangirls, even!! Young, fresh, superhero-loving girls that are open to anything and want nothing more than to meet their hero! They're often gymnasts and other flexible--"
"Okay, okay," Finny said hurriedly. "Huh...I never thought about that."
"That's kind of common knowledge, Fin."
"No, the mail! I mean, I know how the mail is delivered to us, but I never knew how it got from storage to...us. And for that matter, what about the laundry?"
"I dunno...I just throw it down the chute, and a day or so later, it comes back clean!"
"We have laundry chutes?!"
"Um, yeah. Haven't you ever noticed?"
Finny gave him a "This is obvious look", and gestured like he was presenting himself. "I'm a dragon! I don't wear clothes, remember? I've never had to--wait, what about food? Who goes grocery shopping?"
"Donar did, once...but I think that was just for him."
"Flapjack cooks, and he does some...butler-stuff of some kind. But this seems like too much for just him. I mean, he spends his free time trying to install cameras in the girl's locker room. And given how many times I've had to go in there--alone--and take the cameras out, the little maniac has a lot of free time. No offense."
"None taken." CSFB! shrugged. "It's a bachelor's dream! Laundry, dishes, groceries, mail, cleaning...it's all magically done! We just have to get into fights and have sex!"
"Yeah, that's, um..." Finny's draconic senses picked up a presence. "What the--"
He stalked around the corner, and found Ziles and another woman standing there, hesitant.
Ziles was in her costume--a silver bodysuit, the zipper down just enough to get CSFB!'s attention. She was petite, with shoulder-length blonde hair. "Sorry, we didn't want to interrupt your...conversation."
Finny prepared to ask who the other woman was, but then realized it. She was slim, with reddish-brown hair, done in a somewhat short style. She was wearing an ankle-length leather skirt and an off-white sweater, carrying a leather attache case. That had to be--
"--Amber St. Claire, our new government liason? You have the Superhuman Affairs seat in the Cabinet, right?"
"That's me," she nodded.
"We usually talk about things that are more important than...the things we were talking about." Finny cleared his throat. Amber was attractive, which meant CSFB! was a liability. He snatched the mailbag away, and dangled it in front of CSFB!. Like a man hypnotized, his eyes followed the swinging bag. "I'm sure you've been working hard all morning, you might as well go read your mail." He then tossed it down the hall.
CSFB! was fast enough to catch it before it hit the ground. With that, he prepared to go into his room--but he turned towards Ziles right before he did. Finny winced. "Oh, and this is for you. I found it in the mail room, kinda weird to see something for you there, thought you might want it."
He tossed a letter on the floor, and shut his door. Ziles walked over and picked it up. "It's...it's for me. My first-ever fan-letter..."
She looked to Finny for advice, but he was already taking Amber down the hall. Ziles sighed, stepped over the coats (which had been left on the floor), and opened the letter. It was handwritten in cursive, though it was a bit messy.
Dear Ziles:
Hi! My name is Michelle Katerski. I live in Ohio. I've lived here all my life, though my life hasn't exactly been good. That's why I'm writing you--I'm a big fan, and I was hoping you could help me. I've read about Parodiopolis for as long as I could remember, and I always wanted to move there. But, my family's stuck here. I won't get to leave until I go to college, and that won't be for years. I wish I was an intergalactic thief like you--I could go wherever I wanted, and do whatever I wanted. I guess that stealing is kind of the trade-off for that life, but you do it for a good cause, so it must be okay. I was hoping that you could take me back to your planet, and show me how to be like you.
The letter got worse from there. Ziles read about her mom's jerk boyfriends, her problems in school, how she got made fun of...and she wished she could help. But Ziles had been kicked off her home planet, and many other space-empires considered her a criminal. She couldn't just take her to another planet--she was just as trapped as Michelle, in many ways.
Ziles thought about what to tell her, but nothing immediately came to mind...
-----------
"Stand back."
It was one of a seemingly-infinite number of identical metal doors, which could be found everywhere in the mansion's sub-basements. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all metal, with a light blue tint. The door was closed, and everything was quiet.
Then, stringy green smoke pierced the door's hinges and handle. The metal bubbled, and something struck the door, making it fall inwards. The Dark Knight drew back his foot, and he and Nats cautiously entered the room. Each carried a weapon--DK had made his Knightstick into a katana, and Nats had his fire-cane.
Nats looked around the room--it was full of metal crates. "What did those readings say? What's down here?"
"This is secure-storage. Old gear, mostly. The readings were picking up undefined energy--probably mystical."
"I hate magic. But we have ghosts in the mansion, right? This is nothing new."
DK held up two fingers--the team's code for silence. He closed his eyes. A wise man had once told him that sight is an addiction. All conscious lifeforms have a tendency to view only the surface, like it's the most important thing. They get lazy and don't consider motivations and more subtle issues.
A slightly-higher level of zen settled over the detective. He could feel his nerves bristling against the stillness. Then, without seeing a person, hearing footsteps or breathing, or even feeling air-disturbing motion, he knew that someone was there.
"There!" He threw a small bulb at a section of the flooring, and it exploded in light. A man in ragged clothing was illuminated. He had sandy blonde hair, and wore a leather jacket. A look of surprise was pasted on his face.
Nats had a similar look. "A ghost!"
The ghost was flustered. "I...I was just...just looking for..."
He gave up trying to explain it. The man took off, running through the crates--since he was intangible, they weren't an obstacle. But somehow, he tripped and fell face-down into one of them.
Nats prepared to fly forward, but DK stuck an arm out, holding him back. "Ghosts are only delayed by one thing--something they can possess."
Sure enough, one of the crates started rumbling. The top peeled off of it, and the ghost stood up--but now, he was wearing the old SuperFalc suit.
Nats was too surprised to be scared. "What's that thing?"
"Falcon's old suit. More powerful than most of his other ones. He asked us to keep an eye on it."
Nats grimaced. "Whoops."
It had crimson, metal-feathered wings, which were joined by a crimson X harness on his chest. The bodysuit and mask were silver--too flimsy to be NTU-like armor, but sturdy nonethless. A crimson stripe created a domino mask around the eyes, and it had a full facemask. It also had crimson, metallic ankle-bands, and similarly-colored feather-chainmail gloves, done in the same style as the wings.
The ghost seemed to be calmer now. "Ahh, that feels better--something that can fly. Now look, I'm just looking for a lady. Don't get in my way, and I won't have to hurt none of you."
"We'd be glad to help you," DK stated, "But that suit belongs to a friend of ours, and we need it back."
"Don't think so." The ghost raised his arms, pointing his closed fists at them. "I don't know where I am, or how I got here, but you folks aren't no Allies that I ever seen. Only two sides to be on in this Great War, and you're on the wrong one."
DK anticipated it before it happened, but a clicking noise told him he was right. "DOWN!"
They both ducked, just as he launched a flurry of talon-shurikens at them. They were small, flat crimson circles, which each had three rotor-like blades pop out of them. Their tips were all crooked at the end, and pointing the same way, like miniature, triangular flags.
The shurikens spun through the air, roaring towards them--DK tumbled out of the way, while Nats flew straight up, his back to the ceiling. But the ghost had anticipated Nats' move. The spray followed Nats--he activated his fire-cane, putting a wall of flame between him and the objects. But they flew through it unaffected, and a smattering of them collided with his forehead.
Luckily for him, they were of the non-razor-sharp variety. The blunt objects ricocheted cleanly off him, swerved, and returned to the ghost. Nats bounced twice, barely conscious.
The ghost turned his attention towards DK, who was beginning to put it all together. "You're a pilot, aren't you? The Great War--World War I--has been over for almost a century."
"Lying little--" He launched a barrage of razor-shurikens at DK, who leapt onto a crate and battered the shurikens with his sword. Some were sliced in half, others were deflected off and damaged in the process.
With a smooth motion, DK flung a series of shurikens at the ghost. Two acidic ones melted on contact, and a third pumped electricity into the hole.
The ghost hunched over, clearly in pain. DK's best guess was that the ghost's presence had been mistaken for mental energy--the kind the suit's cybernetic controls interfaced with.
"We can end this now...just get out of the suit, and come with me. Whoever you're looking for, we'll find her."
"No."
Smoke poured out from underneath the ghost's feet. The ankle-bands were glowing as well. DK pulled out a cord and Knightarang, lobbed it at the ghost's feet, and it wrapped around his ankles.
In the split-second before the ghost took off, DK's foot pulled something out of one of the shuriken-damaged crates: a small skateboard. Probably one of Enty's gadgets. The back of it had a discoloration, like something had once been on it--probably a rocket. Orange, metallic talons came out of DK's boots, getting a firm grip on the board.
The ghost took off, expertly cutting through the air and flying through the sub-basement's hallways. He tried to shake off DK, but the detective used the skateboard to ride along the floor, walls, and sometimes, the ceiling.
DK activated his comlink. "We've got company."
Continued...
Next: The LLers that *aren't* off doing romantic stuff get to fight a ghost in a SuperFalc suit! Who is he, and who's the woman he keeps talking about? What's Trickshot up to? How will Ziles deal with her fan? Who wants Hattie to get decapitated? How is this angelic banker going to help the team? Will Finny ever find a place to put those coats? All this, and subplots for the other members who don't have subplots yet, as I had to cut this one short. And another new villain! And...some stuff I haven't thought of yet. But I will, as I'm going to keep a monthly schedule for FALL, dammit.
Fin Fang Foom
*flies away*