Author's Note: We are about halfway done with the first story written for this trilogy, word-count-wise. I had written this as a teaser of the second story, the prequel. I hope you enjoy this foresight into how the supergroup had formed, and get a laugh or three out of this chapter. In any case, thank you for reading.
-------------
Chapter 18 - An Interlude
-------------
Paragon, as well as the rest of the world, lost a great man, and more, but his legacy proved strong. Many people, metahuman or no, took up capes and costumes of their very own. Times were changing for the city. Some people wanted glory, some wanted to do what was right, and some had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
Two men looking to make their mark on the world posted flyers across the city in the early hours of the morning. These flyers had caught the eye of many aspiring heroes. Even the news caught wind of this, and called these men ambitious, though laughable considering how many caped vigilantes were cropping up, new or old.
When the day had come, the blue pillars of light seen around Paragon became an open door to anyone who could prove their good intentions, as villains found they’d been locked out of the Blue Pillar System for the entire day. Only a few gangs or villain groups could afford such bases, but the impact was ever present.
The chaos during this moment is another tale, best served with a plate of fresh waffles and mug of hot cocoa. Mmm... hot cocoa. Ssslluurrp! Now, where were we? Oh yes . . . .
Both men set up in the opening corridor of their new base.
Walter sat down on one side of a long table next to his buddy from the military, Jeff Charleston, who was dressed to fit his hero name War Lagoon. Walter never saw the need for a stage name, or for any outfit besides his business suit and bowler hat. But, to each his own. He wasn’t going to judge based on such desires.
He nodded to War Lagoon, and looked at his wristwatch. Walter said, “Now to see what kind of group we’re going to be. In 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . .”
This was the agreed upon time between Mr. Dallevan and the B-P-S agency. The company had informed him that he would receive notice if anything went wrong, but time passed. Nothing happened; no one came.
War Lagoon said, “I’m starting to think we should have put a team together and take down a gang at their hideout, like the supergroups in the old days.”
“My way will work,” said Walter, “just you wait.” He stared into his palm-sized computer for reassurance, but the blank word document was all that stared back at him. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”
His forced smile became a softer, more genuine one when the blue pillar chimed. The first candidate to appear was a young lady, whose mask was a folded rag with eyeholes cut into it and then tied in the back. The rest of her costume was certainly authentic, and possibly custom made.
The young lady opened her previously squeezed eyelids, and smiled. “That was amazing!” she exclaimed. “Not as awesome as my own means of travel, mind you, but I’ve never gone through anything quite like that portal before.”
“We’ll take your word for it,” said War Lagoon. “Do all heroes look like they’re still in elementary school, or is this some kind of joke?”
“I’m fourteen, and most heroes are older than I am, in case you didn’t notice in the mirror.”
“I’m going to pretend someone half my age didn’t just call me an old man.”
“What? I only said you’re older. Sheesh.”
Walter said, “It’s OK, my old friend. Now, little hero, why don’t you tell us your name and a little bit of what you can do.”
The girl contemplated a moment. “I think I’ve decided on Pixeletta. I have electric based powers, with which I can zap the bad guys or enter their computers and learn all sorts of cool things.”
“Enter, how?”
Pixeletta glanced at the little computer sitting on the table, and asked, “Care if I demonstrate?”
Walter raised his hands just enough to say wordlessly to go ahead. He had no idea what to expect, so he and War Lagoon watched as the young heroine approached the table, and then disappear. Or, rather, her body became like a bolt of electricity, which flew directly into the computer without causing any harm to it. Three seconds later she shot back out of it the same way she entered.
“Whoa,” said Pixeletta, a little disoriented. “Naughty, naughty, Mr. Dallevan. I thought my classmate had it bad with her pictures.”
War Lagoon turned his head toward his buddy with an intense smile. There was a lot he could say, but he chose not to.
“Yes, that’s quite impressive,” said Walter. “Well then, if you can leave us some way to contact you in the future, we might get back to you.”
“I already did,” Pixeletta said. “My email is on your word document there.”
“So it is.”
“It’s been fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lunch break is almost over, and I haven’t eaten yet. Can’t go to class on an empty stomach.” She left with a cheery expression.
Short pause.
Walter said, “You know, I think lunch does sound good.” It was a good thing he had installed a break room with a coffee maker and microwave; the fridge was on order.
War Lagoon turned his head slowly toward Walter again. Somehow, nothing he could think to say was fitting enough.
A man walked in wearing a skintight top, a utility belt, and a flame-inspired hoodie. War and Walter had each heard a couple mentions of a hero by this description, but never a name since the hero before them never made a point to stick around after his good deeds.
“So,” said the hero, rocking on his feet, “here we are. Nice place you got here. I was under the impression that the B-P-S wasn’t handing out bases in Paragon anymore. Though, I may have heard wrong. Other people often make mistakes like that.”
War Lagoon said, “That’s only half right.”
The agency had recently come under fire when someone from Paragon—a villain, of course—tried to use their system to teleport to another city with the blue pillars. Between that and so many of their bases in the city being taken, the B-P-S had to take drastic measures and make it harder to acquire such a base besides, which started cutting into their profits.
“Let’s just say we lucked out,” said Walter, hiding his connections.
“I’ll say,” said the man. “I’ve always wanted to examine one of these bases with all their circuitry and durability against explosions. For science, of course.”
“Please don’t blow up our shiny old base, Mister . . .”
“Ah, sorry, I suppose I never did tell anyone my name. It’s Mortar Mage. Part technician, part magic user, mostly genius.”
“Genius?” said War Lagoon and Walter in unison.
“Mostly. When I figure that out, I’ll let you know.”
The microwave dinged in the other room. The sound made Mortar’s eyes light up brighter than Walter had thought possible; figuratively like a nuclear explosion, and literally like a pair of candles.
Mortar said, “Ooh, ooh! Can I see?” He ran past the table toward the break room.
War Lagoon and Walter followed him with their gazes even after Mortar disappeared around the first corner. “Well,” said War, “there goes your lunch.”
Walter said, “No, I think that was yours.”
“So, Mister Psi Wizard,” said War Lagoon, “Let me get this straight. You’re a psychic who can heal small wounds and fatigue as well? How does that work?”
Psi Wizard nodded, and then responded, “It’s all one power, really. I’m not the kind of psychic who reads thoughts outright, or moves objects with my mind, but I can feel other minds. I can reach out to them, and do one of two things—hurt or heal. This extends further into small bodily injuries like that little scar under your mask.”
“Lucky guess,” said War, referring to the scar he’d gotten from flying shrapnel one day.
“Not at all. The way your mind treats it is something from over a decade ago, but not so ancient as your childhood.”
“If one more person calls me old, I’m going villain-side.”
“I can eliminate that scar now if you wish.”
“Not sure how I feel about this. Walter, why don’t you say something?”
Walter got done slurping a noodle from the linguini with alfredo sauce he had warmed up for lunch. He exchanged glances with the two men while chewing on it, and, rather than say whatever was crossing his mind, and there was a lot of it, Walter lifted the next noodle with his fork.
“Always a paragon of wisdom and virtue, isn’t he?” asked Psi Wizard.
“You don’t know the half of it,” War Lagoon stated, on the edge of shuddering. “Anyways, to answer your question, I just don’t know how I feel about someone touching me in the face unless it’s someone I don’t like.”
“Otherwise, you’d love to be rid of that scar?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your mind did. And you’re welcome.” The natural cheeriness to his voice somehow changed. It only confused War Lagoon more to think about it then.
“Any more tricks you’d like to perform for us?” asked Walter. He could guess what just happened, but he was waiting for Jeff to tell him about the scar later.
Psi Wizard said, “Maybe one more before I go. I often bring a top hat with me in the event that there’s someone I can entertain with magic tricks.”
“Magic tricks in a city full of actual magic and superpowers, you say?”
“The kids love it. Here, I wonder which hat I brought this time?” Psi Wizard fiddled with the one he previously had sitting on the ground by the blue portal. His arm reached into it up past his elbow until he found something. “Ha, it’s this one. I thought I lost it.”
As he pulled out of his hat, the headstock and neck of a guitar appeared. The neck eventually stopped when the main body of the guitar snagged against the inside of the hat.
Psi Wizard muttered, “Oh, that’s right.” Then he shrugged with a smile, and swung the guitar and hat against the ground. The neck slipped out of his hands, and he threw them into the air. “Good night, Paragon!”
The hero backed into the blue pillar, and left without his now-demolished prop.
“What just happened?” asked War Lagoon.
Walter responded, “I don’t know, but I think I want him.”
“He did sound cool, I suppose,” said a third voice.
The two men at the table turned to find Mortar Mage standing by them. He was wiping his hands with a towel.
Mortar said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I fixed your microwave.”
“It’s supposed to be brand new,” said War Lagoon.
“Yeah, and it looked like it was going to expire the day after your warranty. No more of that silly little nonsense. Also, because I’m awesome, and the repair was boring, I threw in strobe lights and a disco ball inside your break room. Judging by the looks on your faces, I should probably get going before I wear out my welcome.”
War Lagoon handed him a pen and a notepad that had been flipped to a blank page. He said, “Please sign this with your contact info.”
Psi Wizard had left without leaving behind any way to contact him, but Walter smirked at the blue pillar. He knew the man was coming back sooner or later.
A caped mime stood in front of the blue pillar, and he was doing his full mime routine, pretending that a bag he’d brought with him was a criminal. The bag moved with his “invisible rope.”
Walter leaned over and whispered to his buddy, “I thought mimes were villains?”
War Lagoon had no words for that.
“What hands are here? Ha!” exclaimed a hero.
A second one entered, and wasted no time interrupting him. “Hey, jerk! I told you to stop copying my Shakespeare bits.”
“They’re wasted on the likes of you.”
The two “heroes” turned to wrestling with one another. War Lagoon opened a pair of black portals so that they would fall into the blue pillar and leave. Both he and Walter sighed.
“I . . . am Doctor Aardvarkian!” He wore only his mask, a speedo, and a matching pair of boots, to go with his tubby physique.
Both Walter and War Lagoon, who each averted their eyes in varying ways, said, “No.”
A young woman entered the base, bursting with energy and confidence. She eyed both Walter and War Lagoon and said, “Oh, it looks like we got a pair of strapping young men.”
While the female hero closed in on the table, Walter looked around the entrance area confused. “I’m sorry?”
“I heard you were looking for a good time. I didn’t bring any beer, but I’ll make my stay worth your while. Where’s the music at?”
“I think you’re a little confused,” Walter said.
“Aren’t you the guys who posted those ads all over the place for supergroup member tryouts? Just point the way, and I’ll be your one-woman party if I have to.”
War Lagoon said, “You’re a confident one. If you can do anything solo like some hot shot, then why are you here? Better yet, why should we take you on as opposed to the other applicants? Being a hero isn’t some frat or sorority party.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a blast while saving others. Besides, what sense is there in doing it alone?
“Fair enough. What do we call you? And what exactly do you do?”
“Princess Undercut. I’m a martial artist with invulnerability.”
Both men were impressed. Walter said, “Smart, taking up fighting skills so you don’t have to rely on your superpower.”
“Haha . . . That’s where you’re wrong, sweety. I acquired my mutant power after mastering my third fighting style. I was on my way to work on my fourth when it happened last year.”
“How many styles do you know now?”
“Still only four, which is a step up from half of my brothers. But, I practice them every day when I’m not too busy working or having a blast at some party. Now, I have a question for you. How many others have you recruited for your supergroup?”
The blue pillar chimed again.
Psi Wizard appeared and said, “Excuse me. Sorry to bother you again, but it seems I’ve misplaced my . . . hat.” He was staring right at Princess Undercut. “You!”
The female hero exhaled heavily through her nose. She replied, “You too, huh? Fine, I guess we’re not getting away from one another any time soon.”
“I’m not so sure I want to join this group if she’s in it.”
“Likewise, but it looks like he was here first.”
War Lagoon said, “You’re both promising candidates. If we can’t have both of you, then we don’t want either of you. Either learn to work together, or you can get out of here and take your issues with you.”
“What?”
“Supergroups go beyond just being teams. If there’s friction between us, then we won’t last against a simple bank burglary. Someone innocent might get hurt or worse as a result. Is that what either of you wants as heroes?”
“Or human beings in general?” Walter chimed in.
Princess Undercut and Psi Wizard stared at one another for a time after the latter collected his hat. Their expressions were hard to read.
Finally, Princess Undercut said, “Fine, I guess we’ll talk this out. Do either of you guys have a map of this base so we can do just that while we walk around?”
“This isn’t the city park, you know,” said War Lagoon.
Walter pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Princess Undercut. He said, “We don’t have much yet, but go wild. And please don’t do anything to our microwave.”
“Twenty-three applicants,” Walter said with his head and arms bundled together on the table. “Why didn’t we just form a team and do things the 'normal' way?”
War Lagoon said, “You’re the one who insisted that normal is boring.”
“Yes, and look at where we’re at now. We’re closer to opening a psych ward for heroes than we are to creating a dignified and super effective task force.”
“At least we got some contact information out of this little event. We can probably make a team out of what we have and do something so utterly heroic and crazy that no one would see it coming.”
“That’s a terrible idea and I love it. Dear, oh dear. See what today’s interviews have done to me? I’m starting to agree with the madness of it all.” Walter raised his head. “Time’s almost up on our agreement with the B-P-S. So maybe we should call it a day. I wanted this to work.”
“We both did. Maybe it has, and we don’t know it yet.”
“Since no one else is coming, let’s pack up.”
The universe does love its cues, and that must have been one because the pillar of light chimed once again.
A young man entered whose costume seemed to be a dedication of frosty windows. He said, “Sorry I’m late. Are the auditions still going?”
Walter and War Lagoon were both about to turn the man away as gently as either one of them could manage—which, for War, would have meant “Get out, kid,” or something like it—when Princess Undercut’s ecstatic voice filled the base and cut them short.
“Yes! Yes!”
“Well,” said Walter, resituating himself on his chair, “we heard the lady.”
Adamast Cross got his interview.
And, the following weekend, the Dallevan League was born, rather fittingly, outside an insane asylum.
