Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

5: And Your Enemies Closer

Green Tornado

Real name: Miguel Valdés

Powers: Superspeed, air manipulation.

Notes: One of the few Argentinian metahumans to achieve international fame and recognition. He chose to work on civilian projects rather than fight crime, using his powers and background in architecture to build numerous bridges, monorail networks, and towers that were not practical for normal humans to construct. Valdés later aided the Alpha League in the construction of the lunar colony.

—Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0239]

***

Bangkok, Thailand

Morgan Shepherd rolled up his sleeves and lounged in the bar’s booth. He’d picked a spot near the window, where a breeze did nothing to alleviate the pervasive humidity. The instant he’d left his airship, he was almost crushed by the steamy Bangkok night, and now the back of his shirt was damp and sticky. Even so, he wore a fitted, snow-white shirt and trousers, along with his white gloves. They helped cover the worst of the patchy, non-pigmented skin on the backs of his hands. And he didn’t want to leave fingerprints.

He smiled and raised his glass at a pair of Thai girls in miniskirts who had been shooting him glances since he came in. They giggled and blushed, turning away. They were pretty enough, he supposed, but that sort of thing no longer held any interest for him. It had been years since he was in love, and it had happened just the once. The world became brighter, so bright his heart nearly burst. For months they flitted through Europe, taking coffee in a little café in Marseilles, making love in a villa outside Tuscany. Those had been the happiest days of his life.

Killing her was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Lisa.

Morgan shook his head. He wasn’t in Bangkok for the ladies. He nursed his beer—a local lager that was too watery—and kept one eye on the door, watching the motorcycles and tuk-tuks buzzing past outside. The bar wasn’t big, but it was popular with both locals and foreigners. It had been slowly filling up in the hour since he arrived. A couple of blocks away, the Chao Phraya River would be humming with ferries and longtails even at this hour. He’d flown over the river further upstream—with the stealth cloak on, of course—while they searched for a suitable place to set him down. By river standards, it was nothing special. It was no Danube, or even a Mekong. But the constant movement and the industriousness of the people who worked on it touched him.

Morgan popped a couple of pills into his mouth and washed them down with another sip of beer. He silently toasted himself once again on the successful recruitment drive in Siberia. Only two of the supercriminals he liberated had declined to join him, and they were killed without too much resistance. Another was too weak from malnourishment to be of much use, so he had to put that one down too. But the rest were turning out to be fine specimens. They were still adjusting to their life outside the prison walls, and their training would have to be shorter than he’d like, but that was unavoidable. Time was short, and he could brook no delays.

His star prize, of course, was Doll Face. The man—creature, almost—had seemed delighted with the task Morgan had in store for him. Granted, with the plastic mask stitched to his face it was difficult to judge Doll Face’s true emotions. The creature seemed to delight in painting on makeup each day. He always gave the mask some fresh red lipstick and a coating of mascara for the synthetic eyelashes. At Doll Face’s insistence, Morgan had picked up some new fishnet stockings from a market stall earlier in the evening. The man was undoubtedly insane, but that was of no consequence. In fact, crazy was just what he needed.