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Chapter 07
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In the city of Paragon, heroes are often allowed to take part in the interrogation process of prisoners and suspects in a police station. Such interviews are catalogued and archived in a remote location over time. In the course of eight months, lasting until five years ago, one supergroup made its mark on the criminal network. These are but a few of those cataloged stories.

***

The camera had been placed behind the one-way mirror for protection. It faced a moderate sized room with a single table and, today, two chairs. The suspect sits in the one facing the door to the camera's immediate right. The same door opens to admit a man dressed in dark blue and white. Records indicate that he goes by Psi (pronounced “Sigh,” and you will) Wizard.

Psi Wizard sits down in the other chair with a serious facial expression, perhaps too serious and possibly fake. The suspect stands his ground with a more serious expression and attitude. The hero taps his fingers in a row upon the table; the other man holds his head high. Both remain silent for a time.

Slam! Psi Wizard pounds the table, and stands up. He says, “That’s it.” He walks to the suspect. “Sit in my chair.”

“Wait, what?” says the suspect.

“You heard me. You sit over there, I’ll sit over here. Go on then.”

Confused, his first suspect sits nervously in the chair closer to the door. He glances briefly at the mirror and then back at Psi Wizard.

“Let’s play a little game,” the hero suggests. “Do you like roleplay? Well, that’s OK. All you have to do is pretend to be me, and I’ll try to be you. Go ahead, let’s try it!” He crosses his arms with a mean face more exaggerated than the last. After a moment of the other man struggling to say anything, Psi Wizard says, “What the hell sort of hero are you? You think you could just walk in here an expect me to talk just because you wear a cape?”

“I-I . . . yeah! You better talk . . . punk?” says the suspect. He shakes his head, shrugging at the camera.

“Do your worst, I’m never talking. You can’t make me. Holy shit, I hate your pig-loving guts.” The hero edges on hamming up his performance.

“T-too far. You’ve gone too far. We just want you to talk.”

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it? You gonna make something of it?”

“Y-yeah! It’s what we heroes do.”

“Damned costumed bullies.”

“Tell me where the body is!”

“What? What body?”

“The body! What did you do with it after you got high on heroin and killed your . . . ! O-oh God.” The suspect collapses in his seat. “What have I done?” His face flushed.

Psi Wizard says, “And I’m out,” having returned to his real persona. He looks at the mirror. “He’s all yours.”

Then he walks out, humming, while the suspect sits looking stunned.

***

It is the case of War Lagoon and smalltime crook Vinny “The Hook” Shapiro, a man named for his short tempers and sudden, hard swings of the fist. Vinny enters the room to find the hero sleeping in his chair. Curious, and a little insulted, Vinny reaches across the table.

War Lagoon’s head juts up, and he screams, “Aah!”

He is followed by Vinny screaming, “Aah!”

“Aah!”

"Aah!"

“Aaaaaahh!”

Dark tentacles appear beneath Vinny, and wrap around him. Then the crook is banged against the table a couple times before the tentacles swing him across the room against the mirror. Little of the room is visible around him due to the position of the camera until he slides down.
War Lagoon says in his deep voice, “I need to do something about getting more sleep.” He walks in and out of the view toward the door. “I’ll be right back. Where’s that coffee?”

Vinny says, “Please no. I’ll talk.” Then the tentacles disappear, and he slides down from the camera view. “Hello, anyone?”

***

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YYOOOUUUU...” Mortar Mage and Adamast Cross get done singing on one side of the table while the suspect on the other side holds his hands over his ears. The suspect, being questioned for his possible involvement in a grand theft auto ring, is known for holding out on information for weeks at a time, even before a lawyer steps in.

Mortar, who had been playing an acoustic guitar, says, “So, think she’ll like it?”

The other hero says, “You know, I think computers can be programmed to like just about anything.”

“I’m talking about my new girl. And I was asking our good man over here. What do you think?”

The suspect says, “I think your singing is awful, and no one would date you like that if you wanted them to.”

“That’s too bad. Well, I like it, and we have time before your attorney gets here. Who here knows the lyrics to Tacky Taxi?” His hand strikes some guitar strings in a chord. In no time, he starts playing and singing again.

With a smile, Adamast smacks his palm against his own forehead. He occasionally sings along, but mostly nods to the music.

The suspect bangs his head on the table.

***

The man being interrogated is a known drug dealer. The police have been trying to track down and shut down his supplier for the last two years to no avail. He sits in his chair looking smug, because he has been here before, and no one has been able to get him to cooperate thus far.

Princess Undercut walks into the room. The door barely closes when she skips past the table, and walks to the mirror. She flashes her boobs for the camera, then pulls her top back down and proceeds to walk back to the door. When she opens it, the dealer speaks:

“Hey, wait a minute. Don’t I get a peek?”

The heroine turns her head, then replies, “Not if you don’t talk, sweety.” She leaves.

***

War Lagoon is doing some aerobics off one side of the table, and the new suspect in the drug case is staring absolutely stricken.

“Hey man,” said the suspect, “You alright?”

The hero says, “Huh? Yeah. Just trying to stay awake.” He runs in place and starts throwing punches in the air.

“Not much sleep last night or something?”

“Not much in the last three months. The problem is, I love both my jobs. It eats into your hours of sleep after a while.” Now he starts doing jumping jacks.

“I think I can help you. I know a guy who knows a guy. He can get you some crack.”

War Lagoon slams the table. “Some crack? Is that what you think of me? Do you see my skin color and automatically think ‘This guy just needs a good hit,’ huh? I’ve eaten punks like you for breakfast while serving in the military. Now drop and give me twenty!”

The alleged dealer falls off his chair.

“One . . . I said one!” War Lagoon continues to shout at the man, who now proceeds to do push-ups. “Two, three, four. Four!”

“Please, forgive me,” the dealer begs. “I’ll never sell again. I’ll give you information on my provider if you please let me go.”

“Augh!” War Lagoon storms out of the room. When the dealer collapses, the hero pops his head in again, and resumes in a calmer voice. “By the way, you’ve got good posture. Try staying in shape more often. Bye.”

***

Walter Dallevan walks into the room wearing a fine suit and a bowler hat, and he carries a suitcase. Walter sits across from the heir to a suspected crime family. First, Walter takes off his hat. Then he just folds his hands, and remains silent.

Ricco Adamoli, heir to the family and wanted for questioning in up to seven burglaries and a drug ring, looks around the room and then at Walter before asking, “Where’s the usual girl?” He let Walter shrug, and Ricco leaned in closer. “Never mind. Hey, listen, I had no idea I was being set up. I always thought my little brother was jealous of my good looks and conquests, so I won’t be too angry with him if you help me with another technicality.”

“Really, now?” asked Walter.

“Of course. I mean, sure, I might have whacked a few of our own guys when they wouldn’t make the necessary withdrawals from a few banks, and, sure, I might have planned the knock-over of a few shops outside our racket, but I’ll put in a good word for you if you help me get out of here. Maybe even slip you a few bills to treat your lady to a fancy dinner. What do you say?”

“This is some offer. There is just one problem. I’m not your lawyer.”

The door opens behind Walter. A woman steps into the room, saying, “Hi, not another word.”

“She is.” Walter points to her with a thumb. “By the way, this room has wonderful sound equipment, and there is a camera on the other side of that one-way mirror. But, you should have known that already since there’s a sign outside the door.” Walter gets up.

Ricco looks furious and confused. He says, “What’s with the suit and briefcase? Who are you?”

“I always dress like this when I can help it.” Walter lifts his suitcase. “This happens to be my sandwich.” He then walks to the door with the case and his hat. Walter tips his hat at the lawyer. “Ma’am.”

***

“Aren’t you going to say something?” asked the latest suspect in the ongoing drug case.

Psi Wizard, reading a medical journal, says, “Huh? No, I’m just waiting.”

“Wait all you want. I have nothing to tell you. You’re just wasting your time.”

“Full of ourselves, are we? I’m not waiting for you. I’m waiting for the hero who’s supposed to be interviewing you. She’s running a bit late, you see.”

Behind the suspect, a woman appears through a sparkly teleportation. It is Princess Undercut disguised in dark, gothic clothes. She sneaks behind the suspect and has a low growl. She is also baring her teeth like a vampire.

“Oh, here she is now,” said Psi Wizard with a smile.

The suspect turns his head to find Princess Undercut in close proximity to his neck. He falls and exclaims, “Oh shit! I’m allergic to vampire bites. Someone save me, I need a hero.”

Psi Wizard sighs audibly, and continues reading while the other hero chases the suspect around the room on foot.

***

The room is dark except for a single light above the mirror, and the lightning from the door, as a suave looking man enters the room and makes for the mirror. He is suspected as the real identity behind the notorious villain Cliffshot. Stroking his hair, he says, “The ol’ dark room, crazy hero routine, huh? Alright, bring it on.”

He turns as the door closes, and the above light goes out for a second. The main lights come on, revealing seven members of the Dallevan League—Adamast Cross, Psi Wizard, Princess Undercut, Walter Dallevan, War Lagoon, Pixeletta in her one-and-only appearance, and Mortar Mage—sitting on the side of the table opposite to the mirror.

“No!” shouts the suspect. “Hell no!”

The group smiles; Pixeletta waves.

The man suspected to be Cliffshot runs back into the mirror, and slides down to the floor. “You stay back, all of you. No, what’s that? What are you doing?”

Walter is holding a pack of cards, which he had pulled from inside his suit jacket. He says, “So, what’ll it be?” He extracts the deck from its box, and shuffles the cards. “Five-card draw, or Texas Hold ‘em?”

“I’m pretty sure there are too many of us for one deck of cards,” says Adamast Cross.

“That’s why I brought three.”

War Lagoon tilts his head, and says, “I always liked Go Fish.”

Pixeletta suggests, “We could always do Blackjack.”

“I’m with her,” notes Mortar Mage.

Psi Wizard exclaims, “Ooh, hit me!” Smack! “Ow! I don’t think hitting me is supposed to be the punch line, you know.” He looks at Princess Undercut, who just shrugs with an innocent look on her face.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” asks the suspect.

***

Princess Undercut is crying when the suspect, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, enters the room. The prisoner, being questioned for his possible involvement in a number of crimes being perpetrated beyond the prison walls, sits down.

“I’m sorry,” Princess Undercut says, sniffing. “I can’t do this. I . . . I just can’t.” She teleports out, looking like an explosion of glitter.

Psi Wizard walks in moments later, and pauses as if to note that his fellow hero has gone. He nods, and says, “You’re probably wondering what happened. One of our own was found dead this morning. Pixeletta. She was only fifteen. Sorry, I’m going to go find Princess Undercut and comfort her. Someone else will be along shortly.” Then he walks out.

“Pixeletta,” the suspect echoes in a sad tone. “That cute thing? She was a sweetheart, respected by a number of criminals. What . . . What happened?” He walks to the mirror. “I have a confession to make. I’m the criminal mastermind behind Paragon’s current largest drug ring.” He holds up his cuffed hands. “Reform me.”

***

An older gentleman is sitting in the chair opposite to the door. No heroes are expected in this interview, and he is awaiting his lawyer. However, War Lagoon walks in, his face sullen.

The man in the suspect’s seat says, “You’re one of those Dallevan Leaguers, aren’t you? I have nothing to say to you.”

“I am no longer with the league,” says War Lagoon. “As of yesterday at 10:15am, the Dallevan League disbanded officially. Yesterday, at 9:29am, the body of Judy Tanimoto, A-K-A Pixeletta, was found in a lake southwest of here, her body beaten and strangled, and signs of molestation. Today, at 1:32pm, I will no longer be the hero known to the world as War Lagoon.”

The other man glances at the clock. He laughs nervously. “It is only 1:31.”

Darkness floods the room.

War Lagoon opens his eyes, showing a pair of black flames in their place. Someone bangs on the door behind him, but it cannot be opened. Tentacles bind the other man.

In seconds, the suspect is choking for air, and his body is slammed down upon the table.

“Do you know what terror is, Mr. Franks?” asked War Lagoon, his voice now echoing and booming. “Do you know how it feels to come home and be attacked by someone you trust? Do you know what it is like to have every fiber of your being torn asunder while you are kept fully alive to experience every last moment of it? You will. Whatever comes of your court case, you will live, and you will repent for what you’ve done for the remainder of your worthless life. Do you understand me? Well, do you? I have ways of making you pay for what you’ve done, you son of a bitch.”

Suddenly, the darkness and tentacles all dissipate, and the man is left struggling to breathe. War Lagoon walks to the door, which swings open from so much force being put on it by the police officers. “Some father,” is the last thing War Lagoon says on his way out.

***

The final video finished. A man had watched them all, hoping to learn what he could of the Dallevan League now that they were in his crosshairs.

He wanted more. Paragon was in chaos and disarray already, but he wanted so much more than what was happening now. Almost everything was in place. Now that he knew better what to expect from these heroes, what he wanted most seemed like a certainty.

The wicked man smiled.