Superheroes in Prose: The 1-4 Collection Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part One - Welcome to Prose

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Part Two - The Ballad of M

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Epilogue

  Part Three - Paradigm

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Epilogue

  Part Four - The Bend

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Epilogue

  Will Return

  About the Author

  Superheroes in Prose:

  The 1-4 Collection

  Sevan Paris

  Copyright © 2013 Sevan Paris

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition

  PART ONE

  WELCOME TO PROSE

  Chapter One

  Imagine you have the power to fly.

  Pretty awesome, right? Imagine you have the power to levitate or crush something the size of a Winnebago. Equally awesome. Now ... here’s the catch: having the power means you are bonded irreversibly to a smartass, sociopathic alien life form.

  Not so awesome.

  So, what would you do with all that power? The way I figured it, I had one of two options: Option #1) Use it to commit crime or Option #2) Use it to fight crime. My name is Gabe Garrison and I chose Option #2.

  The jerk that just punched me through a 15th story apartment window chose Option #1.

  It’s not the most elegant of landings. My ass shatters the window, my legs take out a good portion of the windowsill, and my entire body skids across some old lady’s living room. The momentum carries me through her bathroom wall and into the toilet.

  Ouch.

  I stand. I’m a little sore, but that’s okay. My force field activated in time. It kept me safe then and is keeping safe from the toilet shower I’m getting now.

  It might be clean water, but why take a chance?

  I don’t want to take a chance on slipping either, so I hover out of the bathroom. I ball my hands into fists as I float out, hoping it looks cool. I have to shake loose some toilet paper wrapped around my ankle, which totally ruins the moment.

  The old lady screams. She backs over the arm of her ugly green recliner, legs flailing.

  “Whoa, whoa, lady, look—I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I land and try easing her back up.

  Huge mistake.

  She screams, kicks me with her fuzzy blue slippers, and backs away on her elbows. Did I mention I look pretty crazy to most people?

  When I’m powered up, you see two glowing blue lights where my eyes should be. As for the rest, you see a body shaped window into space.

  Literally.

  If it’s broad daylight and the Big Dipper is behind me, you can see it by standing in front. If the moon is even on the other side of the world below, you can see it by looking down on me. If the sun is on one side and you’re on the other, look away or you’ll see spots for a while ... like, maybe the rest of your life.

  I think it’s a pretty cool look, but most people find it terrifying. It’s also why I chose my superhero name: Galaxy.

  The old lady’s screams are freaking me out. I’m sure people can hear it across the entire city of Prose. “Calm down, lady. I know I look weird, but I’m not gonna give you cancer or anything.”

  Oh, well done, Gabe, the voice inside my head says. It’s that alien I was talking about earlier.

  What if she already has cancer? You’ve just reminded the poor woman of her approaching demise. Not to mention how humiliating it will be. She’ll probably spend the last of her days in a medicated stupor, dying slowly in a puddle of her own—

  “Shut up!” I tell it.

  The old lady thinks I’m yelling at her. She goes from screaming to a kind of whimpering. It wasn’t my intention and it’s sad to see, but at least I can think straight.

  It’s baaaaack, the voice says.

  I turn around. The eight-foot tall Cyborg that punched me hovers outside the hole vaguely shaped like my ass. Most of its body is a shiny black metal wrapped in hoses and blinking green lights. Its head is the only way I can tell it’s a Cyborg and not some sort of full-fledged robot. It looks like an elongated human skull minus a jaw. A plume of green smoke rises from its mouth and forehead and flames shoot out of its boot jets. Its purple cape blocks a little of the morning sun.

  “Okay, fella, I don’t know what I did to you but—“

  It garbles something at me in a voice that sounds like a vacuum cleaner going over a bunch of thumbtacks. It points at me all menacingly and then crosses its arms.

  “What are you—I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  It looks surprised and then hits some buttons on its wrist. This time, the voice sounds something like a drowning Klingon.

  I was wrong earlier. This guy isn’t your average Supervillain. “Try again. Something from the planet Earth.”

  The Cyborg rolls the two dots that pass for eyes and then hits a few more buttons on its wrist. It looks back at me and I think it starts speaking German.

  “Almost. What else do you have?”

  It hits a few more buttons and then says in a digitized voice, “For the love of all that is sacred, human, this setting had better work! I just as soon pummel you as to make another attempt at communication!”

  I give him a thumbs up. “That did it.”

  Then I fly over and knock the crap out of him.

  He flips head over tail a few times before righting himself with those boot thrusters. “Who the hell do you think you are, Cyborg Guy? I’m just flying along, minding my own business and you just jack me right upside the head?”

  I’m annoyed, but I’d be lying if I said a small part of me didn’t enjoy this. When I’m Galaxy, I’m more direct. More confident. I’m basically the guy I wish I were in my real life.

  The Cyborg crosses his arms again. “I am the scourge of all that is, human! I am fear incarnate! I am the terror that haunts you both in your dreams and in the depths of your very soul! I ... am ... DEATHBOT!”

  I laugh so hard it hurts.

  The average citizen of Prose is no stranger to Superhero slugfests. The town has a really high Superhuman to human ratio, one of the highest in the world I think. Still, that doesn’t stop people from running to the windows of every office building in sight and looking at us. I’m still too new at this for them to know my name, but I guess it’s obvious who the hero is. A few of them give me fist pumps. Others just stare and continue drinking coffee.

  “You dare laugh at me?”

  “Oh, I dare ... DEATHBOT!” I air quote his name.

  It would be most unwise to agitate him, Gabe. The power emanating from this being is massive. He is quite capable of doing considerable damage to you and—more importantly—me.

  Metal plates spiral away from Deathbot’s left forearm and combine to form a barrel over his fist. The tip of the barrel glows green. “It shall be your final mistake.”

  I hold my hand up a split second before he fires. The green blast sounds like a bad sound effect from Star Trek. M uses our gravity manipulation power to deflect the beam harmlessly into the air.

  M ... that’s what I call this voice in my head. This alien creat
ure I’ve been bonded to for the past six months. M is short for monkey, as in the monkey that’s always on my back. As I mentioned earlier, we can levitate or crush something really big, fly, and can wrap ourselves in a force field. All of the powers come from M’s ability to control gravity. I control flight and basic movement, but he controls everything else.

  When we first started, we worked horribly together. I wanted him to levitate a scared cat from out of a tree one time. Instead, he sent it into orbit. I think its name was Fluffy.

  Now, we work really well together. I don’t even have to tell him to bend gravity around my hand to deflect Deathbot’s beam. He takes his queue from the way I move my hand and does it automatically. Deathbot continues to fire and I continue deflecting. I could do it all day.

  This is most likely—

  There’s a basketball-sized explosion in my right side that sends me cart wheeling into a fire escape.

  —a delusionary tactic.

  “Crap.”

  At some point, Deathbot’s right arm transformed into some sort of freaking bazooka. That had to be what I felt in my side. Why do bad guys always have bazookas? You’d think they’d be harder to get.

  I duck right before he fires again. The shell explodes into the building behind me and I hope there’s nobody inside. Then I see it’s a building full of health insurance agents—so who cares, right?

  He barely misses me three more times. Chunks of concrete and glass explode. I hear screams and sirens coming from everywhere. I’ve got to get clear of these buildings. Otherwise, people might get hurt. Insurance agents too.

  “Can our force field take repeated hits from that thing?”

  How should I know?

  There’s another explosion behind me followed by more screaming. “The science stuff is your department!”

  “MINE IS THE DEPARTMENT OF PAIN, EARTH CREATURE!”

  “Oh for the love of—” I make a fist with my right hand and point it at Deathbot. M translates and fires a Grav Bolt at him. Deathbot screams and twists sideways from the light blue energy blast. Pieces of his bazooka and purple cape fall to the street a hundred and fifty feet below.

  He turns to face me again. Both of us hover above the buildings, but I probably look cooler.

  “You are rapidly becoming more trouble than you are worth, human! I shall demand that my employers pay me triple the price!”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. You’re being paid to come after me?”

  “Not exactly.” He fires the laser and I deflect it again. Thank God M deflects it up instead of down. There are more people gathering on the rooftops taking pictures, and sometimes it’s hard to keep this sociopath inside me reigned in. “I’m being paid to kill your alien host.”

  I should be enraged at some intergalactic somebody putting out a contract on me. Instead, I’m enraged over something else. “Alien host?”

  That’s the way I’ve always seen it.

  “The Alien isn’t the host. I’m the freaking host.”

  Deathbot shrugs. “It is of no consequence.” A cable bigger than my forearm extends from his laser gun and into his back. The gun lights up again and is accompanied by a whistling sound. He fires and the beam barely misses me. It does manage to blow the top off Looktop Mountain on the other side of the Tennessee River.

  The weapon is significantly more powerful now.

  “Ya think?” I fly above Deathbot and he shoots another blast.

  “Okay, we do better at absorbing energy stuff, right?” I yell over another blast. It hits the river and steam rolls up the Michael Booth Bridge.

  Yes. But I wouldn’t advise—

  “We’ve got no choice! He’s gonna take out half the city!” I duck under another blast and spot a row of bumper-to-bumper traffic on Broad Street.

  Sweet.

  Deathbot makes a grab for me as I fly past him.

  “Raise the force field power. Give me a percentage with each blast!”

  ... you’re insane.

  I hover twenty feet above a Coca-Cola truck and turn around. The driver leans out of the truck and looks at me, then follows my gaze to Deathbot. Even from way down here we can see his barrel glowing.

  “Do it!”

  I feel the force field power up and light distorts around me. Seventy percent and falling. I sincerely hope you know what you are doing.

  So do I.

  Deathbot’s beam hits me right in the chest. I hold my fists at my sides and suck it in. The air hums and I see hair raise on the driver’s head.

  Finally, we finish absorbing the blast. It’s hard to keep hovering, but I manage. “Power ... power reading?”

  Forty percent. Do you see that driver running off after we saved his life? Ingrate.

  One shot. Just one shot depleted us thirty percent. Once we reach zero, it’s goodbye, Galaxy. Followed by goodbye, Gabe Garrison.

  Deathbot hits a few buttons on his wrist and flies down.

  I take off.

  Cars, trucks, and people speed past me. I dodge streetlights and turn into an alley. I’m looking for something big. Something mind-boggingly big.

  “Is he right behind us?”

  Like stink on a human.

  M can sense a wide range of energies for up to a mile. He tried to explain it once, but I was too upset about Fluffy to listen.

  I speed past Trust Banking and come across the Electric Power Board.

  That’s where I am when Deathbot hits me with that stupid gun thing a second time. I bounce off the street, into a brick wall, and take out a streetlight. The sound of a ten-car pile up quickly follows.

  I slowly stand, afraid to look up. I hear people around me and they sound scared or worse. “Anybody hurt?”

  Minimal injuries. We, however, have a whopping ten percent of our power left. Get us out of here, Gabe.

  I wonder if M is lying to me just so I’ll leave. It wouldn’t be the first time. I look past the wrecked cars and see Deathbot on the other side. Most people get out of their cars okay, but some are having trouble.

  That’s when I take notice of the two big power board trucks on opposite sides of the street. The really big trucks with the buckets on the back.

  Gabe ...

  Deathbot slowly walks toward us. People scatter. They don’t know if they should run from me or him, so they settle for cowering somewhere in the middle. Deathbot shoves a Honda Civic out of his way. It does 360’s down the left lane and flips when it hits a fire hydrant, sending water gushing in every direction.

  GET US OUT OF HERE!

  I extend my arms and make a cupping motion with my hands. M hesitates, but then catches on. We grab both bucket trucks in a pair of blue Grav Beams. They float a couple of feet off the ground.

  Deathbot doesn’t have a clue until I yank them.

  I sandwich the Cyborg between the two bucket trucks and pull them apart. The trucks and Deathbot are barely recognizable. His left arm moves.

  I slam the trucks together again.

  And again.

  And again.

  The screeching of crunching metal echoes off the buildings of broad street. By the time I’m through, the trucks and Deathbot look like some sort of Volkswagen Beetle sized paper wad. M drops the beam and the wreck bounces twice before rolling into Panera Bread. More alarms and screams add to the chaos that is downtown Prose.

  I land, out of breath. That only happens after I use up a lot of power. “How ... much?”

  Five percent.

  People form a circle around me. Some look pissed. Others look like they want to help me up but aren’t so sure about the space-field effect my body gives off. “How is everyone?”

  An old man wearing a UT cap looks around. He thinks I’m talking to someone behind him.

  Five people have broken bones and twenty-three have multiple lacerations.

  I stand. Several people back away. The old man picks up a brick.

  “We have to help—“

  Forget it, Gabe. HEROES are one mile and clo
sing. They’ll assist anyone that needs assisting and arrest anyone that needs arresting. Including us.

  HEROES is the name of the government funded Supers. Since the Wertham Act, they’re the only ones that practice this Superhero thing legally. When they come across a Super like me, they tend to arrest first and ask questions later. They mean bad business for me, but they’ll be more than enough to help anyone that needs it.

  But grab a piece of that thing first. I want to analyze it.

  “What?”

  To your right.

  I look on the ground and see Deathbot’s twitching right arm.

  ***

  “So you really have no idea where that thing came from?”

  No. Two percent power and falling.

  As the University of Tennessee at Prose comes into sight, I start worrying. I worry that M is lying to me, and I worry that I might be late for class again. Also, I worry that I forgot to put on deodorant.

  “And you have no idea why it was after you?”

  That’s why I wanted to analyze it, Gabe. Please do try and keep up.

  When I fly to school in the mornings, I usually land on the top level of the UTP parking garage. Students don’t like paying for a roofless parking space, so the top is usually deserted.

  When my feet are about six inches from the top level, I power down and jog to the stairway. I’m wearing the same clothes that I left the house with: fashionably torn blue jeans, my favorite Spider-Man shirt, a blue hoodie, and Chacos. I adjust my backpack containing two protein bars, and an Astronomy textbook. It takes me a minute to stuff Deathbot’s severed right arm inside.

  I zip up my hoodie and look at my watch: 9:20 ... I’ve got five minutes to make it to Grota Hall. I go down the stairs two at a time.

  “Hey, hero.”

  I whirl and look up. A red head stands in the doorway I left just a moment ago. She’s wearing a purple skirt and red top with a bright yellow jacket. Her name is Reagan MacPherson and she’s been the love of my life for five years.

  She just doesn’t know it.

  She’s onto us, Gabe. I’ve been telling you this parking garage was a bad place to land for months. “Nobody ever parks up here,” you said.