Chapter Six
Les Is More (partial transcript) Les Granger: Hello everyone and welcome to Les Is More. I’m your host Les Granger. Tonight we’re talking about the so-called Living Legends, the twelve metahumans from the late forties who have suddenly arrived in our time to much acclaim. The government recently reported that the heroes have left the facility in which they spent their first months in our time, and just last night reports of actions by two of these Legends, Golden Lad and Golden Girl, have filtered in from San Francisco. The question remains, who are these strange heroes, and what does their presence in our time mean for us? My guests tonight: Doctor John Aman is a professor at Harvard and considered one of the foremost metahuman historians in the world today. Leila Casanave is one of the nation’s biggest pop stars and it was during one of her performances that these legends first appeared. Doctor Aman, we’ll start with you. Who are these metahumans and why don’t we folks of an older persuasion remember them? Doctor John Aman: That’s a good question, Les, and one we don’t quite have an answer to. Multiple records of all twelve metahumans have surfaced since their return, but up until that point no metahuman researcher had ever uncovered any information about them. Les: How can that be? Aman: Theories abound, but none of us really know for sure. Suffice it to say that something suppressed records and maybe even individual memories of these heroes for sixty plus years. Les: It just seems amazing to me that anyone could forget these men and women. They were fighting the good fight well before many of us remember metahumans existing. Aman: Well, metahumans have existed long before the genebomb explosion of 1945. Reports of supernormal activities can be found over hundreds of years of history. In recent times, the first costumed metahuman was almost certainly Fred Carson. Carson started out in late thirty-eight as Wonder Man, but it was after he went to work for then-President Roosevelt that he became known worldwide as American Hero. But outside him, his partner Patriot, a small handful of other metahumans as well as several dozen unpowered costumed mystery men were all active during the Second World War But our count of the number of the metaheroes during that time period has skyrocketed since the Legends made their return. Les: I think that’s what makes this whole case so astounding. It seems like this must all be a massive hoax or, even scarier, the entire nation is under some kind of mind control. Aman: At least implanted memories and impulses. Yes, it is very scary, Les. That’s why researchers like myself have been trying to get to the bottom of the heroes’ disappearance and return. We’ve found the government less than helpful so far, for whatever reason. Les: That’s a much more complex subject, doctor, but I hope to get in to it later. In the mean time, I wish to turn my attention to platinum recording artist Leila. Thanks for joining us, Leila. Leila: It’s my pleasure, Les. Les: So you were among the first to come in contact with these twelve men and women. What were your impressions of them? Leila: Well first, Les, I want to be one of the many voices to say that there wasn’t just twelve of them. I counted at least two more, maybe four or five, than the government officially listed. With my own eyes I saw one in a navy blue and one suit of armor and another in a red and gold skintight costume. He was quite the specimen if you know what I mean. Les: So you are concurring with other eye witness testimony that there were more metahumans than the twelve announced by the government? Leila: Yes I am, Les. I saw them with my own eyes. It was total chaos out there, but I watched quite a bit of the happenings from onstage. The red and gold guy was a flyer, a well-muscled sexy sort. I wouldn’t mind running in to that one again. Les: Doctor Aman, what do you have to say on Leila’s theories? Aman: In our research, we have come across a few other previously unknown records that have yet to be verified by the government. Leila’s descriptions do match the mystery men known as Atoman and Doctor Frost, both of whom our research did not uncover until recently. Les: Quite interesting, Doctor Aman. I want to discuss this further after the break. You’re watching Les Is More on KIN. *****
New Salem, Kentucky
Ernesto scrambled to avoid the girl’s follow-up kick. Her foot shattered the cabinet door where his head had been moments before. She was a strong one, maybe stronger than a baseline human. Stronger than he was without his powers at the very least. She pulled her foot free from the remains and turned to pursue him. Ernesto threw his hands up in front of him. “Wait! Wait!” “Wait for what, you bastard! You came back here after what you did? I’ll kill you, dammit! I’ll fucking kill you!” Ernesto rolled out of her reach as she again moved to attack. He scrambled back away from her and back in to the living room. “Please just listen to me! I’m not who you think I am! I don’t want to fight you!” “Well, you shouldn’t have come here if you didn’t want to get hurt. You’re a psycho for coming back here!” She tried again to bring her foot down on his leg. He slipped his leg off to one side and the blow landed on the hard wood floor between his feet. He scissored his legs around her foot. She looked down at him in surprise as he twisted his body sideways. His momentum took her off balance, and she fell to the floor. She landed on her side, but he rolled her over on to her back. He scrambled on top of her and hooked in a hammerlock, her arm held helplessly behind her. She struggled to escape, but even with her far superior strength his leverage gave him the advantage. “Calm down,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you have to calm down!” She continued to struggle to break the hold. “I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fuck!” “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m not your enemy. My name is Ernesto Ramirez. I’m looking for my family. It may not be obvious from my looks, but my grandchildren and great grandchildren lived in this house. I’m just here looking for them.” Her struggling continued to no effect. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you fucking psycho?” “You remember the Living Legends that appeared back in April, in Times Square. I’m one of them. My name is Ernesto Ramirez, but I worked out of New Salem as Captain Fearless. I came here looking to meet my family.” Her struggling stopped as she tried to look at him. “You’re Abuelo Ernest? The guy who left abuela to raise four kids on her own?” “It wasn’t my choice. God, believe me. It wasn’t my choice. I would have never left Maya if I knew what I did now.” The girl said nothing for several long, silent seconds. He heard her sob in to the floor. Ernesto released the hammerlock, but the girl continued to weep in to the floor. “What? What is it?” She rolled over, her eyes were swollen and her eye shadow streaked her face from where the tears fell. “Abuelo, why couldn’t you have come back sooner?” “I’m sorry… I couldn’t. The government only released us a few days ago and by the time we were done with the final assimilation crap and put on trains to our destinations, this was the earliest I could get here.” “Oh, God…” The girl slumped in to a chair. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m your granddaughter. Isabella Martina Ramirez. I’m your only living relative.” “What? According to the people who helped me find you, this house had four adults and several children living here.” “It happened two weeks ago yesterday, abuelo. I was at my job, working like a damn dog for just over minimum wage. The police think the assailants thought something was stashed here. One look at the bedrooms upstairs and you can tell that. They apparently didn’t want any witnesses. They shot them. Killed them all. Julio was four, goddammit, four years old!” Ernesto bent down and wrapped an arm around Isabella’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Tears filled his eyes as well. They wept together for their fallen family for several hours to come. *****
Times Square, New York City
Rusty Crocker couldn’t quite peg his reasons for returning to the scene of his arrival, but something told him that he could find answers to his future here. He just didn’t know where. He wore normal street clothes, and he figured he looked pretty much like any other tourist wandering these streets. Only he had even less of a clue where he was going. No clue where I’m going? Hell, my whole life’s been that way. I’ve followed Travis blindly since I was twelve, and it took me a sixty year leap to open my eyes to it. It’s time for a change, maybe a normal life, even if it was in this messed up future world. But before I move on, I need answers. Now he just needed a sign as to where to find them. “You look so hard you miss the nose on your face.” Rusty pulled himself out of his revelry to look up. A woman in her mid-thirties with dirty blonde hair stood in front of some kind of television studio. He didn’t care about her age though. She was radiant, absolutely gorgeous. She walked up and offered him a hand. He stared at it for a moment before he shook off his dumbfounded state and shook it. “Luna St. Claire,” she said. “Rust—Russ Crocker,” he said. “I’m sort of new here. You work for those TV folks?” “Oh, no,” Luna said. “I’m friends with a couple of the reporters there. They stop by my little shop all the time. My delivery boy is out sick today so I was just making a stop.” “Shop?” “Oh yeah, just down the block. I run a little hole in the wall coffee joint and book store. It’s no Starbucks but I get enough business from people in the know to keep it alive. Why, you want to see it?” Rusty looked around at the mass of life that filled the sidewalk. I’m not getting anywhere here. What could it hurt? “Sure, I’d be happy to. Lead the way.” “Such a gentleman,” she said. “You don’t see much of that in this city these days. Come on, follow me.” “Yeah, I’m not really from the city. Not this city at least.” Luna started down the street, and Rusty sprinted after her. She glanced back over her shoulder at him as they walked. “Yeah, I guessed that when I heard your voice. Not many British accents, no matter how faint, among the New York natives surprisingly enough.” “Yeah, I guess I didn’t think about that. Sorry.” “No problem,” Luna said. “So what brings you to our not-so-fair land?” “Now that’s a long story. And one I’m not really allowed to tell you.” “Oh, a mystery man are you?” She stopped and pointed at a small store front beside them. A small sign above the window read Legendary Coffee. “This is my shop. It’s pretty dead this time of day, and we don’t have much of a lunch crowd. You can come on in.” The bell at the top of the door jingled as Rusty followed Luna in to the shop. It was an almost embarrassingly small coffee joint, just a small counter and two sets of table made up the entire establishment. But it definitely felt real, lived-in, like something that was handled and cared for with love. “Like it?” “Yeah, yeah, I do.” “Wait ‘til you see the back.” Luna grabbed Rusty by the hand and dragged him back past the counter and through a swinging door. Rusty found himself inside a surprisingly large stock room, a high-ceilinged, wide room filled with clutter. He recognized the faces on the framed photographs. He recognized the costumes, the gadgets, the knick-knacks. He remembered the mystery men who wore them back in the day. “What? Where did you get all this?” Luna grinned. “I’ve been collecting it for years. I figured that someone had to protect the legacy of the mystery men, Rusty. You are Rusty aren’t you?” “How did you know?” “All the photos and crap I have in here and you don’t think I could recognize you from all the pictures taken with you and Flag Man in them. And the whole Times Square thing was a dead giveaway too. Besides you and Flag Man were always my favorite duo.” “Yeah, well, we aren’t much of a duo anymore.” “Why not?” Rusty wondered if he should say anything, as the information could very well be classified, but at this point he didn’t really care. He told her the whole story of his fight with Flag Man. “Sounds like you two have some unresolved father-son issues,” Luna said. “Are you just going to let him go after this Atoman though? From the way you describe him he would cream Flag Man’s clock in seconds.” “Without help sure, but Wallace seemed to think some tech he had would even the odds. I left long before I saw any of it. I can’t stand the thought of the whole affair.” “So what are you going to do about it?” “I’ve washed my hands of the whole affair. I figure it’s time for me to settle down and give up the whole hero business. I’m outgrowing it.” Luna shook her head. “I can tell you’re lying. If not to me, then yourself. You want to stop Flag Man, but you can’t bring yourself to turn against him. A partner can’t betray a partner and all that.” Rusty scratched the back of his head. He couldn’t quite understand this woman. She seemed to know him almost perfectly. He just nodded. “Stay right here,” Luna said. “I have something that might help you.” Rusty watched her scurry off to the far end of the room. She pulled a couple boxes from the stack and dropped them to the floor before she got to what she wanted. She opened the box, rifled around for several minutes, then pulled out what looked like a hat box. She ran back to Rusty and handed him the box. He stared at it. “Go on, open it already!” He opened the box to find a costume neatly folded inside. It was dark navy, almost black except for a large white L on the chest. The cowl was in reverse, white with a navy blue L on the forehead. A long dark green cape finished the ensemble. “This once belonged to a British hero named London. Not the most original name when you consider he spent the war fighting infiltrators and bombers in London. Anyway, I want you to have it.” “Me? Why?” “Because you need it. How old are you, you know without the extra sixty years?” “Nineteen, why?” “You’re an adult now. Flag Man’s sidekick Rusty doesn’t exactly sound like a full grown man does it? Don’t you think it’s time to be your own man?” Rusty took the costume from Luna and looked it over. “So you want me to be my own man by wearing the costume of a long forgotten Brit hero?” “Is it worse than a kiddie-version of Flag Man?” “You make a good point, but what am I supposed to do with it? I pretty much threw away any government connections I might have had when I left the base for New York.” Luna turned and rushed over to another box. She rifled through it for a moment before pulling out a manila folder. She shoved it at Rusty. “What is this?” he asked. “Open it.” Rusty flipped the cover open. A large grainy photograph of Atoman sat on the front page. He flipped forward and found several more photos as well as a few dozen police reports. “What is this?” “You’re looking at the original government reports on Atoman. I don’t know how it came in to the public domain, but I picked it up a few years ago. Look at the last few pages.” Rusty flipped to the end, found it filled with text, and went back two pages to the beginning of the report. The title of the document was “A Report on the Operational Radius of Atoman”. He started to read over it. It gave details about the classified facility in Colorado where Atoman worked out of from forty-five to forty-seven. “You think he went back?” “You got a better idea?” “I find it ironic that you’re encouraging me to find Atoman before Flag Man can. Hell, I just wanted to leave him alone.” “I think we both know that Flag Man and the government will figure this out themselves soon enough. You and I both know that a voice of reason may be the only thing that can diffuse a horrible incident.” Rusty nodded and closed the folder. “Thank you, Luna. You’ve helped me more than you can know. I think it’s time I headed to Colorado though.” “Good luck, Rusty, and be careful. I don’t think I could live with myself if something horrible happened to you.” Rusty nodded. “Those are the chances that you take as a mystery man. Try not to worry. I plan on coming back to talk more about your archives here.” Luna smiled. “I look forward to it.” *****
The outskirts of Newton, Maryland
Michael O’Malley couldn’t believe it. It was all gone. Only a few heavily damaged buildings and rides remained of the Nolan Carnival. After four years on the front lines with the Marines, the carnival had become like a family to him in his post war years. Ironically enough to a man that called himself Fire-Eater, it had burnt to the ground. And any ties with my past died with it. Mike honestly didn’t know what to do anymore. He could go out and find himself another carnival or a circus or even work the state fair circuit, even in this new world fire-eaters were hard to come by. But even if he could get hired, it would not be the same. Not without the gang at the carnival, and most certainly not without Louise. The edges of his lip turned slightly up at the thought of Louise Peters. She gave up so much for their love, first her family, then her position as a nurse. Mike had hoped that some day he could make an honest woman out of her. Earn enough money, find a place to settle down, and start have some rug rats. Now she’s dead and gone. And worse, the state couldn’t even find records of her existence. She was gone, forgotten, lost and alone. Mike looked down at his hand. He opened it so he could see the green domino mask hidden in his grip. When he started out, he had worn a blue mask, but Louise quickly put the kibosh on that. Blue doesn’t match green and red she said. She made him the green mask just before he left for the war. It’s all I have of you now, he thought. I’m sorry, Lou. But I vow to make things right. His life as Mike O’Malley was dead. But he still had a long career as Fire-Eater ahead. He pressed the mask over his eyes. The mask stuck perfectly to his face as it always did. He took a deep breath and unleashed a trail of flame down the front of his clothes. The shirt and slacks instantly reacted. The tactile cloth, a farewell gift from ACTION, reacted just as it was meant. The drab clothes melted and oozed in to his classic costume: green trunks, red shirt, gloves, and boots. He felt the heat of his flame flow away from his body, the crispness of his costume on his chest and legs. It felt damn good. It had been too long. “It’s good of you to confirm my suspicions. They told me you would be coming here, but I didn’t believe them.” Fire-Eater looked for the source of the voice in the shadows, but he could see nothing. “We’re going to have such a laugh!” The figure cackled as he stepped forward and in to the moonlight. His chalk white skin seemed to almost glow in the moonlight, all except for the malicious grin of his thin red lips. His hair was a bright orange. He wore a pinstripe suit in orange and purple with an oversized baby blue tie. The tie matched the oversized shoes on his feet perfectly. He held a foot-long machete on his right thigh that burned away any other hints that he was a friendly sort of clown. “I’m Clown in case you haven’t guessed.” He giggled at the statement as if it was a joke that only he found funny. “Just like my daddy, my granddaddy, and my great-granddaddy. I’ve waited a long time to get my hands on you.” “Your great-grandfather was the Clown?” “He was an amazing man, but this carnival haunted him again and again. See, even though my dad was making a name for himself internationally, the ringmaster of this here place decided to make himself a crime-fighter. He stole my family’s name, our look, our legacy, and tried to pervert it with an American sense of justice. Ultimately my grandfather killed him, but his legacy lived on in this damned carnival. But I took care of that.” He giggled to himself again. “When I saw the news coverage, I just knew Nolan’s other hero would try to show his face here. So I’ve been waiting for you. I waited months. But you should be proud of me. I only killed four people in all these months.” He scratched at his chin as if in thought. “That may be a new record for me. It’s been a long time since I killed so few people.” “What kind of sick freak are you?” “Not a freak, a clown. And they always say there’s nothing sadder than a clown, don’t they?” “You are quite sad, aren’t you?” Fire-Eater spit a pair of fiery puffs Clown’s way. Clown stood his ground and the fireballs struck him on his chest and arm. The fire burned away in seconds as Clown cackled his maniac laugh again. “Fire can’t hurt me, you fire-breathing ass.” He raised the knife up and rubbed it against his cheek. “It makes it almost unsporting for me to kill you, but I think I will live with myself somehow.” Clown lunged towards Fire-Eater. Mike sidestepped out of the blade’s way. Clown recovered and delivered a blow with his free fist to Fire-Eater’s gut. Fire-Eater coughed up super-heated puffs of air as he fought to recover from the blow. Clown swung the knife down in a deadly arc, but Mike threw up an arm to catch the Clown’s wrist. He spun his body around and drove his free elbow in to Clown’s jaw. Mike knew that with his fire out of the picture, he would have to go back to old fashioned fisticuffs if he hoped to survive. Not a problem for a two time Golden Gloves winner, he thought. He raised his fists and landed a jab to Clown’s solar plexus followed by a hard right to the jaw. Clown staggered and swung the machete wildly. Fire-Eater stepped back to avoid the blade. He drew back a few more steps and forced Clown to come to him. Clown staggered forward, and Fire-Eater saw his chance. Clown swung the machete wildly in Fire-Eater’s direction, but came nowhere close to landing a strike. As the knife finished its killing arc, Fire-Eater dove forward and drove a shoulder hard in to Clown’s gut. He caught Clown slightly off kilter. The knife flew from Clown’s hands as Fire-Eater forced the mad man to the ground. Fire-Eater rained blow after blow down on Clown’s face. He wasn’t going to let the freak up unless it was in a body bag or on a stretcher. After several dozen hard blows Fire-Eater slumped off of the unconscious Clown. What the hell is wrong with this world? How can they let freaks like these wander the streets? Mike shook his head. He knew the questions were better left to those in the know. He grabbed Clown by the man’s frilly collar and started to drag him towards the city and the police. *****
Atoman Task Force Command Center, outside San Antonio, Texas
“What is it you wanted to show me, general?” “Just follow me.” General Wallace ushered Flag Man forward. He pulled the security badge off his waist and waved it in front of the scanner beside a large metal door. The scanner beeped and the touchpad next to it came to life. Wallace placed his hand down flat against the panel. A faint light ran up and down Wallace’s hands as it scanned his fingerprints. After a few moments, the door clicked and slid upwards. Flag Man followed General Wallace in to the next room. It looked very similar to the control room at the heart of the command center, except for the five large glass cases that formed a pentagram around the command table. Each held a single piece of skintight spandex in various colors, all draped over a wire frame. “Back in 1965 myself and several other military and espionage personnel were put together by then director Seth Blake to form the original incarnation of ACTION. Five of us were given the suits you see here. Each mimicked metahuman talents in some way. I gained super strength and toughness from mine, while others gave super-speed, flight, rudimentary telepathy, and even invisibility. As the Agents of ACTION we acted on the country’s behalf until a mission went wrong and my fellow agents were massacred. The program was already in trouble do to the danger these suits could present to their users, and my friend’s deaths brought the program to an end. “Until now.” General Wallace walked up to the central table and entered a command code in to a keypad. An iris opened in the center of the table and a sixth glass tube rose up. A bulkier suit of armor filled this tube. The armor was blue, with a red and white stars and stripe pattern on the chest. “Since Atoman first went rogue I’ve had all the military tech boys I could get working on this. This power-suit combines all the powers of the Agents of ACTION. With it, you can be as strong and as fast as Atoman, and he won’t be able to escape you by flying away. The telepathic danger sense and invisibility should be able to turn things in your favor in a prolonged confrontation.” He keyed in another command. The glass tube slid down, leaving only the power-suit behind. “It’s still not recommended for prolonged use, but we think this is the perfect way to even the odds against Atoman. With it you can go toe to toe with the bastard and bring him in to us. What do you say?” Flag Man reached up and pulled the armor down. “I say I’m ready to go when you are, general.” “Good, because we’ve tracked Atoman’s location to western Colorado. Come tomorrow we are bringing the bastard in, dead or alive.” ***** Living Legends and all related characters, and Metahuman Press are © and ™ 2005-2008 Nicholas Ahlhelm. |