Flyover City! A Novel (with Superheroes)

31. Heroes, Just for One Day...

To: joelnwyatt@gmail.com
From: mattmilsap@secretID.net
Subject: Potential Hot Tip

Our current pay scale can be found on the FAQ section of our website. All payments are made after your tip has been corroborated by our research team. SecretID.net is always ESPECIALLY interested in any tips which include PHOTOGRAPHIC and / or VIDEO evidence (for which payment is doubled)

Keep in mind that we receive hundreds of email tips every day -- most of which never get past our fact checkers. Without providing us with at least the NAME of the "top-tier" hero you're referring to, there's no way to say how interested we may be in the information you claim to have. 

Regardless, our content is written entirely by our on-staff bloggers. There's no talk at this time of accepting submissions from freelance writers.

mm

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 Yeah, I know what it looks like: like I'm just another lecherous powerazzi-wannabe, without a hint conscience, or the slightest regard for national security, or for anything else that doesn't fold neatly into his wallet. But its not like that. Really.

The thing is, I do consider Kyle to be a friend (the last 72 hours or so not withstanding, anyway). I know what happened - believe me, I keep going over and over it in my head. I understand that it can't be easy for him.

I remember those first reports, about the impending quake in San Francisco. I knew it was going to be a Big Deal when the Agency showed up on all the news channels to comment. I've been following this stuff for long enough to know that, at it's heart, super-heroics are a covert activity, almost always performed on-the-fly and by the seat of the tights. If the Agency starts to show it's hand, it always reveals that the cards are no good.

This wasn't the result of some mad scientist's invention, or a massive kaiju, raging its way toward the Pacific coastline. This was a natural disaster, the sort of thing that the Agency can only just begin to anticipate, but is powerless to do anything about... until the inevitable comes to pass.

Just hours after they announced their "best of bad options" plan, the entire world sat down in front of our TV sets and laptops to watch history play out before our very eyes - a preemptive strike against the forces of nature... maybe even God Him (Her- It- That-) self. Even now, no matter how many times the footage gets replayed, I stop whatever I'm doing the second it comes on, to watch that familiar red and silver blur crash down against the surf; the fists slamming against the ocean floor, redirecting whole tectonic plates. With his super-speed tempered by all that pressure, its still some of the best footage ever captured of the Alphamale in action. Seriously, I still have it on my DVR.

Going mano-e-mountain with the earth's crust released a wave of smaller, less-potent tremors throughout the city. With no time for a large scale evacuation, Greyraven and Darkstreak were deployed in the Argojet to help with search and rescue efforts.

All that, of course, is well known. With all eyes on Alphamale, whatwasn't so well known (until the release of Greyraven: The Unauthorized Biography) was that the intrepid duo were joined by another hero: Psia. As in "Pound-force per Square Inch Absolute". Psia was a relative unknown - twenty years old, still in training at the time of the disaster - but the Agency had high expectations for her, due to her off-the-charts Power Index Rating, for her ability to generate force-fields that could "ricochet" the force and velocity of any attack.

At approximately 12:08 pm, a minor wave rolled beneath San Francisco's Castro District  - little more than a seismic fart, by all accounts - but a ruptured gas line caused an old three story building to explode into flame. The Argojet arrived on the scene, so Greyraven could climb down a reinforced rope ladder to rescue a woman trapped on the second floor.

Greyraven kept a few rungs beneath her, in case she slipped while making the treacherous climb - but the rescue was going according to plan. The woman had just managed to make it inside when the giant craft lurched suddenly, it's wing smashing down on the roof of the building, causing it to crumble down to the earth.

The ladder appeared to be caught in the rubble, but the Argojet wasn't just tethered. The ladder was getting sucked into the ground, like a wayward strand of linguine. The 'jet continued to lose altitude, until it hovered just above the street.

Finally, the mass of bricks that were swallowing up the ship were shoved aside to reveal the true threat - Deacon Struck.

The hulking preacher was in the city "spreading the word of God", casting judgement on the citizens of the modern-day Sodom - as he was wont to do, back before he revealed himself to be a bonifide supervillian (though in retrospect, it's entirely possible that he was just looking for someone to "lift his luggage" for the remainder of his tour). All kidding aside, the Deacon is no lightweight: all wrapped up in his cheap suit, with his neck straining against his trademark bolo tie, he's like a whole tea party's worth of body-builders. On meth. But this was back before appeals to libertarianism and "self-determination" were all the rage, so the news called his tantrum out for exactly what it was - straight-up religious persecution.

Darkstreak, Psia, and the woman they helped rescue just barely escaped the Argojet before the Deacon tore the wings from the frame, like so much tinfoil.

The Greyraven biography doesn't sugar coat the fact that the more experienced heroes were a less-than-ideal first line of defense. High tech weaponry can only go so far against that sort of sheer power. Greyraven and Darkstreak were outclassed; the show belonged to Psia.

The few pictures I've found reveal a short, slight heroine - maybe 5'5", a hundred pounds and some change; always standing off to the far edge of a group photo. Green enough to still be wearing the playful smile of the happy-go-lucky mascot. Even so, she held her own in the ensuing battle, reflecting every last bit of force from the Deacon's stikes, right back at him. Greyraven and Darkstreak were relegated to little more than trying to curve the extensive collateral damage.

With the fight rapidly escalating, Greyraven swung down though the cracked windshield of the Argojet and climbed into the cockpit, in a desperate attempt to train the craft's missles onto the rampaging Deacon.

And then... victory. Deacon Struck lay prone on his back, pinned beneath the gigantic semi that was deflected by Psia's force field. Darkstreak joined her in front of the 'jet, ready to pounce. He'd been around long enough be cautiously anticipating round two - but the truck remained still.

The so-called superhero code against killing is a sticky subject; a thin, threadbare line that's routinely ignored in all manner of situations. Debated by pundits, the Agency's legal team, and more than once, among the heroes themselves. Sometimes right there, with their skin still burning from the heat of battle.

The hydrolics on the Argojet hissed as they moved into line of sight with their target. According to bystanders, Psia was distracted by Darkstreak's shouting at Greyraven to stop. That was all the time it took for the Deacon free himself from the underneath the semi... to bear down on Psia, breaking her neck before she could generate another force field.

Minutes later, Alphamale arrived to make the capture of Deacon Struck his second victory of the day, locking him away in a maximum security prison, where he remained until his escape, a few months ago. Once again, the world's greatest hero saves the day.

For everyone but Psia. And Kyle.

So I get it. I get it now in a way that I never could have before. But the more I think about it, the more his ambivalence just pisses me off. I mean, here he is, with all these ways that he could make a real change to all the Very Bad Things going on out there - and he just turns his back to the world. Where does that leave us? Where does it leave me? - just one more asshole going about his dead end job - headed for a marriage that may very well be destined to fail. If Kyle's just throwing in the towel, cashing in his chips, what hope is there for a guy like me?

Well... I've agonized over this long and hard. Searched what I guess some people would call "my soul". And I've come to a decision: I'm not going to keep pursuing SecretID. Something's come up today that's given me an idea. It's not much, probably just a dead end... but at least it's something.

And no, it's not just because "mm" was such a dick in his email.