Hero Types

Chapter 3

"Chop chop!"
Kit hunched her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her chest. The two muscular team captains scratched their chins and squinted between her and Roy, who was bony and prone to fainting. The cheerleaders whispered in their ears.
"We'll take Roy," Brad said. Dick and Co. sighed discreetly. Kit hid her red face and moved into position.
"All right," Coach Joe shouted. "On my go. Balls at the ready! Three, two..." The whistle blew.
Kit ducked immediately and ran to the back of the gym. A ball whizzed past her ear. She'd take a regular villain over a testosterone-hyped jock any day.
A ball bounced off the wall beside her. She grabbed it, ran to the line, and hurled it across the gym. Being a hero, defender of the innocent, etc..., she had to be in good shape. She could throw all right. She hit Brad on the shoulder.
"Fuckin' weirdo."
That was what she heard, and then her face was on fire and she was on the floor. Her ear ached. She sat up, touching her hot cheek, and looked around. People were staring at her. She couldn't tell who'd thrown the ball.
"Hey—" The whistle blew. Coach Joe stepped onto the field. "Kit, are you okay?"
"I'm—" She choked up. Her eyes were watering. She got up quickly and ran away before they could see her cry. High school was brutal, and tears were weakness. You hid your weaknesses.
She shut herself in a bathroom stall and cried into her hands. She couldn't figure out the exact reason why she was crying. The despair turned briefly to blind rage, and her heart raced. She shook angrily and pressed her palm into the door. Her fingers glowed. She scraped her nails down the door, melting four paths in the plastic.
She focused on taking deep breaths. She wiped her eyes in front of the mirror and told herself to get through the day, like she had gotten through every day. She could do it one more time. She could always do it one more time.
The bell rang. Her heart sank.
It was Wednesday.
She dropped off her stuff at Grammy's before showing up at the CAA. They couldn't do anything till that night anyway. She knew that Jersey would be more late than her.
"You're doing all right?" Grammy asked, looking over her glasses from her novel.
"I'm great. We have...a thing, so I have to go."
"Can I watch it on the news?"
"If it goes well, not till tomorrow morning."
"Are you happy?"
Grammy had asked this just as Kit had jammed half a banana in her mouth and been halfway to the door. She stopped.
"Uh—yeah. Yeah. I'm happy." She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Grammy was the kind of person who would let you know they saw right through you without a word. She raised her eyebrows doubtfully and looked back at her novel. Kit slunk away.
Even if it was Wednesday, and she had to work with the most untrustworthy person she'd ever met, Kit felt relieved as she rode the subway over. Her mask and her athletic clothes were in her bag, and her face was still red and burning, and she was ready for Reflecto-Girl to take over.
Mardie was asleep at the desk. The CAA was quiet when she arrived. She went down the hall, listening, and found Command empty as well. She dumped her bag on the table and checked the library.
The lights were on, and there was a giant yellow python draped over the autobiographical section. It blinked and flicked its yellow tongue at her. She hurried away.
Howe's snakes had always given her the creeps.
"Hi...Benji?"
Upon poking her head into the training room, she found him staring up at some of the posters on the walls. She strode over beside him and gazed up as well.
"Are they all real?"
"Yeah," she said. Relics from the Golden Age. Magmaman and Solstice glared defiantly from behind their masks. "They used to be, at least."
"Do we all, like, get posters?"
She shrugged. "If you do something really awesome."
"Do you know anybody on a poster?"
"We got to work with Orange Justice once. Jersey got her autograph."
He continued gazing up at the posters. She looked at him.
"Are you doing okay?"
And as she said this, she recognized her own hypocrisy, and she brushed it aside.
He shrugged. "I guess."
She nodded. "It sucks."
"Do you have a mom?"
"I used to." She'd never noticed that Red Bandit had gloves before. "She died."
"Who killed her?"
"Cancer."
Benji scratched his nose. "What about your dad?"
"I see him now and then. He lives in California."
"Does he know..."
"Yeah."
They stood in silence for another minute. Kit listened, but the building remained quiet. She grabbed a punching dummy and wheeled it to the center of the floor. She hit its head.
"Show me what you got."
Benji's eyes widened. "I don't have powers."
"You still gotta protect yourself, man," she said. "Try throwing a punch. It'll feel good."
He smacked it and giggled. This made her smile. It felt good to smile.
"I feel dumb."
"Well, that's ninety-percent of superhero work," she promised him. "Come on, give it a shot—" She heard footsteps. Lucas stopped in the doorway, stuffing his suit into his gym bag.
"There you are."
"Isn't it early?"
"Yeah, I got a call, I just need an hour. We should be there at around eight, so...yeah, like in a few hours. Mickey's meeting us there."
She sighed. He shook his head.
"Don't give me that look. You two hang out. Benji—Howe's going to watch you tonight, Mardie has to come with us." He pulled a black hoodie over his head and slipped out the door. Kit looked at Benji.
"Yeah. Try again."
She tried to help Benji for an hour or so. He got nervous until she demonstrated and purposely messed up so that he wouldn't feel so awkward.
She took him down the street to a sandwich store for dinner, having left a note on Mardie's desk in case she woke up. Benji didn't talk an awful lot, especially for a thirteen-year-old. She liked that.
When they got back, she changed into her superhero outfit.
Some people, like Lucas, went the traditional route. When he wasn't undercover, he had on a woven blue-and-yellow bodysuit, complete with a yellow cape and blue mask, his mustache curled. Most people didn't go this route.
Howe didn't really have a superhero alter-ego. He wore khakis almost every day. Mardie, on the other hand, was very particular about her aesthetic: She wore a steel masquerade mask and chainmail, as the Kinetic Knight. Jersey would wear a glossy black trench coat and spike back his inky hair.
Kit just wore an orange athletic sweater and black leggings, and sneakers. She tied up her hair and wore an orange mask over her eyes. It was boring, and it worked. Sometimes she wished that she had the guts to pull off a cape. Often, she worried that she was recognizable.
The point of the capes was not in fact fashion (although sometimes this was a major consideration). It was to protect your identity, and in-so-doing protect those you associated with.
Howe had showed up by then. Benji was eyeing his snakes while Mardie said goodbye. Kit waved on their way out.
"Has he said anything to you?" Mardie asked, pulling into traffic.
"I think he's scared."
"I know he's scared." She shook her head. "I want details."
Kit knew that when you were in a traumatizing situation, especially at a young age, the last thing that you remembered would be the details. She didn't say this. She shrugged and nodded and gazed out the window at the evening traffic. She watched all of the people rushing home to their families, fretting about their jobs and normal things. That could be her some day.
It gets better.
But they'd been saying that for years, and so far it wasn't working out.
They parked out back of an old theater and walked through alleys to the bank. It was dark, but it was never pitch black in the city. There were always lights on somewhere.
Traffic was dwindling, though it would never fade. They heard it honking and saw it drifting past narrow openings while they tried to avoid people. They walked fast, but were still the last ones to arrive.
The bank was large and white-pillared, with a wall of glass doors between those. There was a raised cement plaza before it, complete with several benches. It was located in a quieter business district, so there was almost no foot traffic.
There were a few dark figures huddled on the plaza, two apparently locked in deep conversation. Lucas turned around and raised a hand in greeting upon seeing them, and Mardie went over to examine the doors.
Kit came up next to Jersey and hugged herself against the cold like he was, hands in their armpits. A chill wind blew through the streets. A newspaper scraped by on the sidewalk below. She squinted up at the sky, and then back at Lucas and the other man. She frowned.
"Who's Lucas talking to?"
"That," Jersey said, "is Mickey."
She frowned harder. "...What?"
"I know." He checked his phone and put it back in his pocket, hopping on the balls of his feet and shivering. "It took me a minute too."
"But..." She cocked her head. He briefly glanced their way, and she actually got a look at his face. She recoiled. "Oh my god. It is Mickey."
They stood in silence for a minute, watching Lucas and the villain speak with each other. Jersey coughed into his fist. There was a click from the doors, and everyone glanced over, but Mardie shook her head and held up five fingers.
They watched Mickey with mild confusion. Kit chewed her lip and crinkled up her nose. "He put on weight."
"You mean, started working out? 'Cause I know you're seeing what I'm seeing."
"Stop."
"Come on." He gazed at Mickey, picking at his chin, and nodded in agreement with himself. "I mean. Come on."
"No, I'm not coming on. And you're perverted."
"I appreciate the finer things in life. Like that."
"Whatever."
There was a louder click from the door. Mardie waved Lucas over. Mickey watched him go, then he turned his attention to them and came over. Kit's stomach dropped.
Go away, she pleaded. Unfortunately, since neither her nor Mickey were telepathic, he didn't.
"'Ello," he said, flashing a grin. "Been a while, 'asn't it?"
Last time she'd seen him, he'd been a weasely teenager. He rolled up his sleeve and offered his mechanical hand, eyes twinkling madly. Jersey shook after brief hesitation. Kit crossed her arms and glared at him when he turned to her. He chuckled and dropped his hand.
He rocked back on his heels and cocked his head to look at her. He removed his hat and rubbed his head, smiling.
"Ah, Kitten, was it?"
"Kit."
"Kit." He slapped his driving cap back over his head, nodding. "How are things?"
She continued to watch him. He'd bulked up and shaved his head. So what? He was still the same person, and that person was a sleazy rat. She said nothing.
He grinned again, glancing toward the doors. "Well." Even after living in York the past half decade, his cockney accent was still strong enough to force his 'll's into another 'w'. He looked back down. "Like the bangs, by the way."
Swip.
The door was open. Lucas waved them in. He held open the door and looked up and down the street one more time before following them quickly inside.
"Kit, would you mind..."
She rubbed her hands together till they glowed. She looked around the lobby and worked her way around the counter while Lucas produced several flashlights from a duffel bag.
There was a door with a sign that said, PERSONNEL ONLY. She tried the knob, but it was locked.
"Mardie?" she whispered. Mardie appeared next to her, her flashlight muffled and reddened by her palm. She shook her head.
"That's electronic."
She turned around. Mickey grinned and stepped forward.
"I'll get that, lovey."
He put his ear on the door. His left one was gone, replaced with metal and a springlike wire curled down under the collar of his shirt. He pursed his lips and smacked below the doorknob. He tried it, and it swung open. He bowed.
"At your service."
They crept inside, tiptoeing carefully down the long hallway. Their flashlight beams swung over the walls. Mickey put his arm out and tapped what was left of his ear, nodding ahead. They moved aside to let Jersey through. He sighed and vanished.
His shadow crept along the wall before their flashlights faded off, and they waited. Mardie stepped on Kit's foot and mouthed an apology.
Jersey popped back into existence and nodded. They padded silently past the camera, covered by a black cloth. There may not have been a microphone, but one could never be too careful.
There was a heavy metal door at the end of the hall, and above it a single, glowing red light. They were quiet and made room for Mickey. He put his hand and his forehead on the door for a good minute. Then he straightened, fixed his hat, and put his ear to it. He tapped his fingers gently on the metal, seemingly at random.
Kit rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall. She felt quite certain that he was simply putting on a show. She looked to Jersey for confirmation, but he was on his phone again.
Mickey groaned softly and put his weight on the door. He rubbed his nose and something on his hand clicked. He placed it on the door and the wires in his arm glowed brighter.
The door grated and there was an electronic buzz. He nudged it, and it glided inward. His eyes sparkled with the gleam of a madman in his element.
Lucas shone his flashlight inside.
"Tripwires?" he whispered.
Mickey knelt down. He put his metal ear to the floor. The gaps between the plates on his throat glowed now, and there was a dull light beneath his shirt.
"Pressure plates," he said, straightening. He tapped his foot inside. Kit edged past, walking carefully, and shrugged back at the group. They closed the door behind them.
"Now what?" she asked.
"We wait," Lucas said. He sat down behind a shelf. Kit sighed and dropped down in a corner, and Jersey fell beside her. She leaned her head against the wall.
Superhero work tended to be glamorized. It was mostly a lot of waiting, and then a whole lot of adrenaline for a few short minutes. And paperwork.
So much paperwork.
She winced and covered her eyes when Jersey shone his phone in her face. He lowered it. His skin was almost luminescent in its blue glow.
"What happened to your cheek?"
She touched it and looked away. "Nothing."
"What happened to the other guy?"
She grimaced. "It was dodgeball."
"Ooh. Brutal."
"Yeah."
"Ah..." Mickey sat with a groan by her feet, which she pulled in closer. He narrowed his eyes and frowned around the room. "So is this what you sort do all day? Just...wait for them to show up?"
Kit looked away. "There's not a better way to do it."
"Well." He craned his head back and observed the shelf to his right. "Not a cleaner way, I suppose, if that's what you worry about." As he spoke, he reached over and plucked a wad of bills off a stack. He rifled through it, nodding in satisfaction, and tucked about half into his pocket. He replaced the rest and looked back up. She channelled all of her contempt towards him into one look.
"Really?"
He shrugged. "We've all gotta pay the bills, haven't we?"
"Guys—"
Kit looked up. Mardie had her ear to the door, and she was frowning. Lucas bent anxiously over her.
"What is it?"
"Shh!"
"Lucas?"
"Mardie thought she heard—"
"Shh!"
She listened. Kit held her breath. After what felt like a long time, Mardie shrugged and sat back.
"Probably my imagination."
Mickey had gotten up. He felt along the walls, searching the corners, and Kit glanced at Jersey, who was still engaged in his phone. He sighed wistfully.
"Ken's drunk dials could be poetry."
"It sounded like...I don't know." Mardie shrugged uneasily, glancing at the door. "I really can't describe it."
"If he shows up," Lucas said, "be ready. He's quick, and we'll have to tie him up fast if we want him to be there in the morning."
"I mean, look at this." Jersey showed her his phone. "Beautiful. I swear—"
"Oh."
They looked up. Mickey was clutching a wire from under a ceiling tile, and he looked disturbed.
"What?" Lucas asked, when he didn't speak. "Can you see something?"
"Nah." He dropped the wire and replaced the ceiling tile, shrugging. "Having a laugh's, all. That's just electrical."
Kit stifled a groan.
Bam!
Everyone snapped around.
"So I take it we all heard that one," Lucas muttered.
Kit got to her feet. She crept behind a shelf and peeked out between stacks of cash. Her hands glowed softly. She held her breath like the others and waited for the Weasel to show his distorted face.
There was a click from the door. More clicking, which she didn't recall from Mickey's turn with the lock. The room felt cold, and abruptly so. Lucas grunted, and she couldn't see why. She rubbed her hands together till they glowed brighter, and held them over the tips of her ears. Jersey pulled his collar up.
EEERK.
The safe door peeled slowly from its hinges, and blinding white light pierced her eyes. She blinked and tried to shield herself while they watered.
Bang!
The door rattled like a coin on the floor. It crunched beneath the boots of the dark figure with the sweeping headlamp. Kit squinted through the light, and the hairs stood up on her arms.
That wasn't the Weasel.
Before she could check Jersey's expression to make sure he had come to the same conclusion, the figure had twisted abruptly and swung their heavy briefcase directly into Lucas's face.
There was a thud. The light bounced wildly over the room, and from what Kit could make out it was Mardie tackling them.
Mardie was not an especially large person, but the ease with which the man—and it was a man, she had determined by the jerkiness of his movements in a few seconds, and the weight of his boots—swatted her off was chilling.
He dropped, while she was on her knees, and clutched her head for a split second. Kit's stomach twisted, and she saw a million movies and heard a million necks snapping. Green light swelled up, and there was the stench of smoke, and instead Mardie simply slumped to the ground.
Now, with Lucas dazed in the corner and Mardie in a heap on the floor, he swept his steely headlamp gaze onto the shelf, where Kit and Jersey peered out in awe and horror.
He took a heavy step forward. Crunch. A gloved hand reached out and gripped the front of the shelf. Knuckles cracked, and the metal squealed beneath his fingers. He bent it down. Dollars spilled onto the floor. Kit stared up, transfixed, like a deer in caught in the headlights of the car that would end its life.
And, suddenly, he staggered aside. He fell into a shelf on the wall, knocking cash everywhere, and Mickey backed quickly away, metal fist still clenched, realizing the depth of his mistake.
Kit finally jerked herself into action. She pushed on Jersey's shoulder and got him to shake his head and back away as well. She hid in the dark and watched the dark figure pry himself off the shelves—dented, now—and face Mickey.
His speed was supernatural. He swung quickly and caught Mickey in the shoulder. In a few seconds he had him pinned against the wall in what had erupted into a fistfight.
Kit took advantage of the distraction. She grabbed Jersey's shoulder and snuck over to Lucas, who was picking himself shakily off the ground. He swatted them wordlessly away, gesturing urgently to Mardie, who had not moved. She was lying at the feet of the man. Kit raised her eyes.
If she'd have hated Mickey just a little bit more, she would have enjoyed watching him getting the shit beat out of him.
         He'd lasted a few seconds, and maybe been a challenge for the first one. Now he was pinned by the throat and struggling, and the masked man was entirely unaffected.
Kit's eyes darted between Mickey and Mardie. They could grab her and run. Lucas was on his feet, if not still dazed. If she waited for someone else to make the decision for her, the man might turn his attention on them. They could save Mardie and make it out with a head start in the least.
She met Jersey's eyes. He nodded.
They darted forward at the same time. Jersey grabbed Mardie and pulled her out of the doorway, and Kit grabbed the man's abandoned briefcase off the floor and flung it at his back.
He released Mickey, who staggered into the wall, and turned slowly to face her. She took a step back, but she raised her hands in preparation for whatever he would throw her way.
He took a grating step forward and stopped. She squinted and tilted her head. Her eyes burned. She was able to make out the trench coat, the mask, and the headlamp, but nothing else was distinguishable.
"Look out!"
A blast of light shot through the doorway. It caught the man in the shoulder and sent him flying into the shelf, which clattered onto its side. Money floated in the air.
Kit, panting, stared at the figure buried in the warped metal for another second. Lucas, propping himself up on the doorway, lowered his shaking, sparking hand. She heard a groan from the corner.
Mickey rubbed his forehead and blinked dazedly up. She held out her hand. He took it.
"Get back to the CAA," Lucas muttered, pushing them ahead as they all took off down the hall at a sprint. Mickey helped Jersey hold Mardie. "Wait for me there. Don't let anybody leave."
"Lucas—" Alarms were sounding, lights were blinking, she thought she heard sirens in the distance. She tried to look over her shoulder as she ran, heart pounding, but she could see nothing. "Lucas, who—what was—"
"I don't know," he said, practically shoving them all through the broken glass onto the sidewalk. He glanced back as well, shaking his head, and waved them onward. "I don't know. Get back to the CAA—Jesus, I can't even say that. Go. Now!"
And they ran, caped crusaders of the night. They ran.