Mom, I'm Bulletproof

Chapter 4.2: One Night in Theater City

Arthur quickly swept up the rest of the stage area, knowing that, as part of one of Theater City's oldest and most historic theaters, it had to be carefully maintained.

Arthur then checked the burglar alarm and all the locks. He hurried through the building and shut down all the lights except for some strategically placed security lights and a few lights backstage. One of these shone down dimly on the massive metal pipe organ bolted to the rear wall of the theater. The organ had been positioned in such a way that its sound flowed out from this space and throughout the building.

Arthur sat down in front of the organ, took a deep breath, and started to play. Each note roared throughout the empty building. As he continued, a hiss joined the music coming from the pipes. Purple smoke flowed out of the pipes as he kept playing, flowing downward instead of upward, surrounding Arthur in a thick cloud.

Concentrating on hitting the right notes, Arthur felt plates of warm metal clasp around his hands first, and then around his entire body. As the metal fitted in place around him, he grew taller and stronger.

By now, he had to be careful, as bronzed metal wrapped around his wrists, hands and fingers, but he didn't miss a single note.

Arthur's face grew hot as metal enclosed itself around his chin, cheeks and forehead as other pieces of metal sealed themselves to the back of his head.

As he played the last few notes, he felt the added weight of a theater curtain wrap itself around his metal frame. When he opened his eyes, he was looking through a frowning theater mask. Arthur ceased to be as Proscenium lifted his metal gloves off the organ keyboard.

Proscenium rested for a moment, and then started playing again, a different song this time. This caused more dark purple smoke to flow out of the pipes. The smoke did not swirl around him, but instead formed into a cloud off to the side of him. It solidified and formed a shape, transforming into a young girl.

She was about 16 or 17 years old – even Proscenium wasn't sure of her exact age. She had died her hair bright blue. Her own theater curtain robe was held together with a small bronze clasp designed in the shape of a smiling theater mask.

"Hey, boss," he said.

"Curtain, what have I told you about walking around barefoot?"

"This is how I'm comfortable," she said, stretching her arms over her head.

Proscenium shook his head. This was not the first time they'd had this conversation.

He placed a newspaper in front of Curtain. "Another murder last night."

The headline read, Mutilated body found, no comment from police.

"Bummer," Curtain said.

"Indeed. Tonight, I hunt the killer."

Curtain stood up. "You've got to let me come with you. I can help."

"No."

"But..."

"You have studying to do."

Proscenium waved his hand. Out of nowhere, more purple smoke emerged from the ground and formed into a desk, complete with several books on it.

"Criminology? Military history? DNA sequencing?" Curtain said. "Why can't I just beat up scumbags like you do?"

"Knowledge first," Proscenium said.

Curtain sat down at the desk. "Seems to me that anyone can be a crimefighter with just a cool outfit and a power or two."

"That attitude will get you killed. Knowledge will save you."

"I guess so," Curtain said. "But I'm still tough."

"We all have our roles to play," Proscenium said. "Know your place."

Proscenium let himself relax. His entire body lightened, transforming into a purple cloud, while still retaining his consciousness. He floated upward, above the theater's antique catwalks, through the old vents, onto the roof, and into the night.

* * * *

Theater City, located in upstate New York, was once a rival in the arts to New York City, but had since fallen into hard decline. Its skyline was a mixture of brightly lit areas, and darkened, silhouetted areas. The bright spots were the entertainment districts, once the heart of city, now growing smaller every year.

On this night, Proscenium had a specific target. Still in cloud form, he flowed in the direction of one of the poorly lit areas.

He floated over the city, appearing to any observers like a stray mist caught in the breeze. He squeezed through the cracks in a door and became solid just inside of a small art supply store. It had closed for the evening, but lights were still on inside. Despite his bulky armor, Proscenium had mastered the art of moving silently. He crept farther into the store, where an elderly woman sat at a desk, sorting a stack of receipts.

"Oh, my!" she shouted when she saw him. She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a small pistol. She shook with fear as she pointed it at him.

"Bullets cannot harm me," he said. "I have a question for you."

"Get out!"

Proscenium's hand darted forward and snatched the gun from her before she could squeeze the trigger. He clenched his fist, crunching the gun into a small metal ball. He then dropped it to the floor right in front of her.

"You order exotic specialty items from Japan," he said. "These include katana brushes, for painting and calligraphy. They're made in only one place in the world, in a small village by a single master craftsman, and not widely available on the internet."

"Um, yes..." the woman said.

"I must know who you sold them to."

"Please don't hurt me."

"Show me your records."

With a few keystrokes on her computer, the woman produced a series of receipts for customers who had bought the brushes. Two were individuals with nearby addresses. The third was a PO box.

"Who was this?" Proscenium asked.

"The strange man," the woman said. "He was small, with red hair and freckles. He smelled like peppermint and wax."

Proscenium nodded. "Thank you." He turned away from her.

"Who are you?" she said.

"Just as the proscenium arch watches over its theater, I watch over my city."

"What does that mean?"

Proscenium rushed out of the room. Once concealed inside the darkness ofthe front of the room, he turned into a cloud and flowed out of the building.He knew the woman inside would forever wonder how he seemingly vanished inseconds. 

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Next: The almost forgotten.