Menace #4: Roots
The first letter came a few weeks after Nate had registered as a hero. He had returned home from a particularly long day’s work, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep until noon the next day. It was a cool night, early in July; the sky outside was dark and the moon was large, but covered by countless clouds. The letter was placed neatly on the dining table, a wooden table with a bright, tan hue in the center of his dining room. He hardly noticed it at first, as he was hungry and the normal clutter of the household lent itself to many misplaced objects. It wasn’t until much later in the evening when he finally gave it a second look, and noticed his name, Goggles, written on the front. He hastily ripped the top from the envelope, pulling out the small, folded strip of white paper from inside. He unwrapped it and read:
“Dear Nate,
It has come to my attention that you have enlisted in the service line of heroism. I admire your bravery and commitment to self-sacrifice, though I am concerned that your plight may, in fact, produce some — shall we call them — conflicts, between you and I. In light of this fact, and before we might begin said controversies, I would like to offer a proposal. You see, the others and I are not quite on the best terms, as the educated often struggle with the heathens (after having been mired in their assaults for the past few weeks, I imagine you understand that of which I speak), and so I see a chance to produce a quid pro quo arrangement between us. I shall inform you of their intentions as I hear of them, and you shall, kindly, keep from engaging in my plans. I will assume that you have agreed with this arrangement and act thusly. Next weekend, at the stroke of midnight, the villain you call Pygmalion will be attempting to steal the rabbit medallion from the new Endarian exhibit at the New Monmouth Museum. If you have yet to believe me, this should verify my authenticity. I hope we never come into direct conflict new hero.
Signed,
The Gentleman
P.S. Goggles is not a very menacing hero name, I might try something darker if you wish to be taken seriously.
The letter baffled Nate. There was no protocol for what to do next, no mission-statement, no textbook, no guidance for him to follow. He was just rudely torn from the world of heroism, the fictional world that he’d constructed of justice and bravery, and forced into a harsh reality. Was he to ignore the letter, continue on the seemingly righteous path, and stop the Gentlemen when he next showed his face? He pondered the importance of the information the man could provide over the weight of letting a villain run free. He began to rationalize, figuring that any other hero could put a stop to the Gentleman’s misdeeds, anyone could do it. He then stopped himself, looking down at his hands. He was a young hero, only fourteen. The realization of the situation he was in did not hit him until the next morning: the Gentleman knew where he lived and had gotten into his house. The letter was not an offer, Nate understood, it was a threat.
Nate had not received a letter for some time. This was no surprise to him, as when he was sixteen there was a catastrophic event function (a CEF) involving the Gentleman, and all the nearby heroes were called into service. Thus, Nate had to intervene and, shortly thereafter, the letters halted altogether. Still, he waited. Despite his efforts at nonchalance, he was very afraid of the Gentleman and of his capabilities. He had not taken the time to think it through before the incident, but he was beginning to realize that his minions could be anywhere. He had developed a nasty habit of glancing over his shoulder as he walked the streets, and walking briskly from place to place. The worst part, however, was that Nate no longer knew when crimes would occur. He had been relying so heavily on the crutch of information, that staring into the face of the unknown was an intimidating experience. All he could do was wait.
It was another hot summer day, lazy enough for adults to slack off work, but not quite scorching enough for the children to be dissuaded from playing throughout the town. There were a few clouds in the sky, but no threat of rain, and a cool breeze would float in every so often, giving Nate a much-needed, literal breath of fresh air. His phone was constantly buzzing with texts from the White Witch, complaining about how he hadn’t brought her along yet, but he needed to check the phone each time in case it was an emergency. He sighed, taking solace in the fact that he was not the only hero on duty.
Heroes often formed groups in efforts to dissuade villains from committing crimes while they are on duty; they were usually scheduled for middle-of-the-day duty, which was why crime during the day was nearly nonexistent. It was an interesting tactic, Nate always thought, but the hours spent on coordinating the team felt both foreign and useless to him, as he was fairly effective on his own. He also understood that, with the scarcity of heroes, he could not afford to join up with others and lessen the overall protection of the city for peace of mind when he was on duty. In groups of three, the heroes tend to follow the same format and structure: the king, the princess, and the warrior.
Nate’s thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone, and he was about to call Courtney and tell her to chill, when he realized it wasn’t from her. It was a news alert: Pygmalion was attacking the New Monmouth Museum. Fuck, Nate thought, I should have known, he does this every goddamn year. Nate was far from the museum, but he began sprinting with all his might, entering into the first stage of his powers. He had never had to do this before, and the experience was very odd for him. As he ran down the street, most people had the common decency to get out of his way, some children even cheered for him as he ran, but a few of them decided that their business must be far more important than the superhero’s and continued their snails pace with ease. After the third person refused to move from his path, Nate decided that he needed to get there as fast as possible, and the fastest way was through. He toppled over the next snail, shouting backwards “Sorry, hero business!” and continued his full throttle run.
He arrived at the front of the Museum, a large, cement building with two large glass doors with windows above them. The cement had once been all black, but street-artists had changed it into a mosaic of color and strange gangster names. Inside the glass doors, Nate could see that the front desk had been toppled over, and the attendant was lying on the ground inside, unconscious. He pulled out his phone and called her an ambulance as he continued into the building.
When Nate walked past the front desk into the first exhibit, he had absolutely no idea what was going on. Most things were broken beyond recognition, and the things that weren’t were on fire. The exhibit had been detailing all of the Endarian artifacts found in the Middle East, but it had quickly become an exhibit detailing the destruction of belligerent villains and idiotic heroes. Nate looked across the room and saw Pygmalion a short, blond man dressed in a Grecian toga, standing against the back wall. From what Nate could tell, the man looked horror-struck, which was an unbecoming look for the man. Nate then saw Galatea leap to his side. Pygmalion had created Galatea some time ago from a clay block, but, forgetting that she was made of clay, anyone would have considered her an astounding beauty. She was tall with her hair faded to a dark black color, and her face was the pinnacle of perfection. She wore no clothes, as why would a clay monster-woman need clothes, and stood without shame at Pygmalion’s side. From Nate’s experience, he knew that she was incredibly strong, and his body tensed on sight. The villains, however, did not appear to be looking at him. Nate turned his head to follow their gaze towards the right side of the room, where three heroes stood. Their costumes were ripped, and their faces looked worn and wan. Nate knew the heroes, and cursed his rotten luck. It was the Lionheart Hero Squadron. The leader, Lionheart himself, looked over towards Nate and called out, “Don’t worry, we have a plan!” Nate, stricken with fear and hatred, decided to, against his better knowledge, sit down and let them attempt their plan.
The leader, Lionheart, was a twenty year old hero who had been in the business for roughly three years. Whereas most heroes form groups to dissuade higher crime, Lionheart was desperately in search of basic aid, prowling the market a few years ago looking for heroes to beg to join his group. He was not a strong man, nor was he a smart man, but he felt himself to be both, and so, once he had managed to form a squadron, began to assume leadership and take command. Nate had seen him in action a few times before, and had had the displeasure of working with him on one occasion, which he immediately recognized was one too many. The man was an idiot, rude, and weak, always opting to work from a distance. This would normally have been fine; he would be a great support-hero, to aid the assault-heroes from a distance, using his mighty roar to injure or paralyze foes. Instead, he insisted on being the warrior, and the only person to make close-range assaults on the team, which he never did. His costume was very frumpy as well, with a red and orange lion’s mane plastered around his neck, slicked back black hair, and brown sweats covering the rest of his body. If there was one hero Nate refused to work with, it was Lionheart.
The other heroes on his team were actually very good at what they did, perhaps even the best heroes in the business. The Forge was a good friend of Nate’s, and had helped Menace on many occasions. He wore a white shirt, red karate-style belt, and white pants (which were now slightly torn), and held in his hands a bright silver katana, that, as Nate watched, began to shrink down into a metal ball that the Forge held until he needed to mold it into another weapon. His powers, Nate always thought, were incredibly interesting and useful on the front lines, but Lionheart insisted he stand as guard, to protect his undeniable importance in the team. He looked exhausted as he took a knee and ran his hand through his close-cropped hair. Nate pitied him. But not as much as he pitied the third member of the team, Earshot, or, as Nate liked to refer to her, Bunny-Girl.
Nate remembered when she became a hero, as it was only a few weeks after he received the first letter from the Gentleman. She wore a full-face mask which connected with the rest of her costume; it was all white with two eyeholes cut out, and a pink triangle colored from her nose expanding down around her mouth. She usually had a hood around the top of the mask, and from the hood sprung two bunny-ears, which she claimed were there to aid in hearing, but Nate could feel that it was solely for the aesthetic. The rest of her costume was entirely white, save for an oval of her stomach that was colored pink, and the palms of her hands which were padded and painted pink to look like a paw. She wore white boots around her feet, which blended so well into the costume it was difficult to discern whether she was really wearing them. She refused to take the costume off while on duty, and so no other hero knew what she really looked like under the costume. She was one of Nate’s favorite heroes; unfortunately, he never really got to see her do much.
Her part on the team, as far as Nate could tell, was to sit there and look pretty, or, if worse came to worst, she would be a second line of defense for Lionheart. He had never seen her in a combat role, in fact, he’d never seen her do anything except cover her floppy ears every time Lionheart went to roar. Nate laughed a little as he sat there, thinking over their team composition, and how badly Lionheart was leading. He did not have much time to ponder.
Lionheart stepped in front of the other two heroes, staring straight at Pygmalion and Galatea, and let out his mighty roar, forcing Pygmalion to his knees but Galatea, made entirely of clay, felt no pain at the roar. The sound, however, was able to shatter the glass encasement of one of the chaos-scrolls. Galatea began to charge at the faux-hero, and was stopped by the Forge who stepped in front of him with a shiny, silver shield that he had crafted. Galatea began to pound at the shield forcing the Forge backwards with each strike until his back was pressed against Lionheart. With one final shove, Galatea threw the both of them back against the wall, and they collided with a loud crashing sound, as the Forge’s head smacked against his shield. Earshot turned to face Galatea, squaring herself in a fighting position, with a slight bounce in her footing so that she would be prepared for anything. Nate admired her from where he sat, seeing that she did, in fact, know what she was doing. Just as she was about to strike, Lionheart called out to her, barking an order to return to his side. She sighed, lowering her head, and turned to leap to him, but as she did, Galatea shoved her foot into the girl’s stomach, sending her a few feet backwards. Nate tried not to look as Earshot hoisted herself onto her arms and knees and hacked up some of her stomach contents. Menace had had enough.
He felt a large snapping sound inside himself, and entered into the second stage of his powers. He slapped on his goggles to handle the input of his senses, and noticed that Galatea’s form had a few, small cracks in it. Pygmalion had returned to his feet and was beginning to scour the exhibit for something, but Nate knew he could stop the man later, and the odds were six-to five-and-pick-em that the object was destroyed by either Galatea or Lionheart. He could feel his power surge through him, but he’d fought Galatea before and he knew that if he wasn’t careful, he was still going to take a beating. He sprinted towards her, practically leaping from where he stood, and smashed his elbow into her chest, causing her to lose her footing and topple backwards onto the ground. As she began to stand, Menace heard Lionheart calling for him to stop, for him to fall in line and let his team handle the situation. Nate turned and walked to him as quickly as he could, while trying to keep one eye on Galatea.
“Listen,” Nate began, hoisting Lionheart up by his mane, “when it’s just you on duty, you can feel free to fuck up as much as you like.” The hero in his hands began to protest, but Menace continued, “But when I’m on duty, when it’s my shift, you need to present yourself with a little decorum and civility, or at least not destroy the entire god damn museum that you were commissioned to protect, understand?” Lionheart nodded slowly. The Forge was unconscious beside him. Nate dropped Lionheart next to the unconscious hero and turned to face Galatea, who had finally recovered her bearings.
“Hey, Bunny-Girl,” he called, as Earshot had managed to compose herself as well, “go stop Pygmalion.” The girl nodded and ran off into the exhibit among the maze of broken exhibits and burning refuge. Nate turned back to Galatea just in time for her fist to collide with his face, making him step back and howl in pain. “Holy shit that hurt.” Nate complained as he wiped some blood from his mouth. He turned to the tall woman in front of him and squared himself. She threw the fist again, but he swept it to the side and threw his leg to her stomach, which she sidestepped and brushed his leg away. Nate, capitalizing on the momentum, spun and hoisted his other leg which crashed into the side of her body, making an odd cracking sound but failing to move the woman. Menace put his foot down to step back, as the large right leg of the woman flew at him, forcing him to duck down so that the leg would coast over him. He made a desperate grab for her leg, and managed to clamp onto it, then twisted it with all his might. With a strange “plop” sound, her leg flew off and Nate released it onto the ground, and the giant woman, losing her balance, fell onto him. Nate gasped in pain as the air was forced out of him by the clay woman who began to lift herself by her hands. She was glaring at him now, and he wondered if she could feel emotional strife or anger as she lifted one of her fists to throw down into his face. The hit never landed, however, because just then the bunny slammed her foot into the base of Galatea’s chin, forcing the head to twist off and land against the far wall. He heard Pygmalion’s cries near him, for he loved the monster he had created. Earshot held out her hand for Menace to grab, and she pulled him up. “Thanks, Bunny-Girl.”
“No problem, Goggles.” She returned.
“It’s Menace, now, actually, has been for awhile.” Nate blushed, slightly embarrassed by his old name.
“Earshot, thanks.” She said; Nate could tell she was smirking behind the mask.
Menace loved the cube. The wooden walls, the oaken smell, and the hidden compartments where he stored chips all made him immeasurably happy and feel incredibly safe. He knew that, even if the Gentleman knew where his house was, even if villains took up the search for him, no one would ever find the cube. He smiled and stretched his hands out against the walls which, now more than ever, made him feel at peace. Of course, the loud girl shouting at him made it slightly hard to relax, but he was working through it.
“Why didn’t you take me along today?” The White Witch shouted at him. “I was all prepared, I had my costume touched up, I worked out my insignia, I practiced my magic all night and you still didn’t take me along. Why did we even go and get the permit, Nate? Why?”
“Look, I know you’re excited to start hero-ing and such, but have you ever stopped to consider the danger?” Nate responded, yawning a little. “Plus, we’d have to practice our teamwork — together, that is — and we have yet to do that, so I can’t quite bring you with me yet.”
“Then we have to do that now!” Courtney decided, but Nate stayed where he was and showed no signs of getting up. “Come on!” She shouted at him. “Stop being a bitch.”
“There’ll be time tomorrow.” Nate responded.
“Tomorrow you’re going to say that again.”
“Tomorrow it will be true again.”
“I want to help.”
Nate looked up at the girl, who appeared to be holding back tears. She was biting her lip very hard, and her eyes were very red. She was shaking too, almost like she was trying to hold back a tantrum, or perhaps an explosion of unkept magic. “I just want to help.” She repeated.
“Fine.” Nate relented. “We start practicing tomorrow night at eight sharp.” She almost began to cheer when Nate continued, “But, you don’t start on duty until I think you’re ready.” Nate rolled over in the cube and yawned again, rubbing his sore mouth and falling into a deep sleep.