Hero Stalker

Part Sixty

"I don't think I've ever met a bigger psi-nerd," he remarked, jamming the tweezers into my back again and plucking out another piece of wood.

"Motherfucker!" I shouted. That one had hurt.

"Quit whining. I'm almost done. Aren't I the 'most integral member of the team?'" he said, quoting my ten page long 'In Defense of Cypher . . .' post. "In fact, aren't I the 'sexiest Centurion in Bayton?'"

I groaned. At least he'd unstrapped me. And disinfected the table before making me lie face down on it. I'd never had splinters this deep in my life. "I was sixteen when I wrote the sexiness post. You were the only Centurion in Bayton even close to my age."

"Am I still the sexiest Centurion, or does Pulse have me beat?" He yanked out another one. I gasped. "Chill. That was the last one,"

"Femme has both of you beat." I bit my lip as he poured disinfectant in my cuts. Some of them went deep. "I need a new costume."

"I'll requisition one for you. Should be ready by tomorrow." He laid down some gauze pads. "Slasher wants a bunch of new gear too, but fuck him, he held a knife to my throat last night."

"Really?"

Cypher began wrapping medical tape around my back. "Slasher broke into my house last night. Held a blade at my throat and shoved a piece of paper in my face. Wanted to know where Harpy had gotten the schematic for a weapon that I drew. Well, I had Benny restrain him and we had a little chat. You'll have to excuse my paranoia. We haven't seen a villain this dangerous since Cracken, and at least Cracken was easy to find. Want some tea?"

"Sure," I said. He walked over to the doomsday-ready kitchenette in the corner. If he'd accessed my account, he'd most likely also seen posts from the years I spent hoping I was psi-positive, and the horrible, heartbroken rants I'd posted when I realized I wasn't. But, like a true gentleman, he hadn't brought up either. "What's up with the robot suits? They look pretty suspicious."

"Harpy stole three of them and made modifications. They were originally intended to protect individuals from nuclear fall-out. My grandfather had this bunker built in the early days of the Cold War. You have to admit," Cypher said, dropping tea bags in two black mugs, "it did looked pretty suspicious when you disappeared ten minutes before the attack at the Police Ball."

He was there? "My boss sent me to walk her dog. You know, it's a bit unfair that you know my secret identity and I don't know yours."

"Please. Like you haven't figured out my identity yet, Tygerfyre." He laughed. "I'm just glad you didn't post it online. By the way, I'm still angry you dropped my magnetic interference chip and tried to rip Harpy apart with your blades. Smart strategy if you wanted to kill the man in the suit before he told us where he hid his superweapon." He walked back over and passed me my tea.

I sniffed it—Earl Grey. The warmth stung my scraped chin. "Or if you wanted to stop a lunatic from shooting up a hospital."

Cypher leant back against the wall as I sat down on the edge of the table. Dark Justice hadn't left any chairs in his bunker. "You really wanted to kill him?" An equal proportion of awe and repulsion filled his voice.

My swollen left knee ached as I tried to rest some weight on it. "What else could I have done?" I could have trusted Cypher and used the chip. I could have sliced his gun in half. Try as I might, I couldn't silence my doubts. In just a few minutes, I'd gone from being repelled by Slasher's violence to aiming to kill. As a Christian, I knew all people sinned. The worst I'd ever done had been Wesley Fords, Jake Mulberg, and now Dan Silver, and premarital sex barely counted these days. But not only had I tried to kill Harpy, I'd desperately wanted him dead. What kind of person did that make me? "What other choice did I have?" I said, and I didn't know if I spoke to Cypher or myself.

"Dark Justice never killed anyone," Cypher said.

I scoffed. "That's what the media said. He fought crime in this city for fifteen years. You know what Slasher's done. How can you think any better of Dark Justice?"

Cypher looked down into his tea. "He was my father."

Now I really saw the deep blue color of his eyes. The same color as the eyes I'd met all those years ago. I'd never imagined Dark Justice having a family. "He's dead," I blurted out.

"Really? Shit, that's news to me."

Smooth, Shadowcat. "How is that possible? He wasn't psi-positive."

"My mom was." Cypher shrugged. Pain flickered in his eyes. "Another technopath. She hid it pretty well—cared more about the research she was doing than fighting evil. Plenty of people don't want this life. Not that it saved her, when the Postman came after her."

I winced. "I'm so sorry."

"Her death made my father really paranoid. He hired six different expert martial artists to teach me self-defense. I was seven years old. After that, the only times I saw him were Christmas, Easter, and when he'd come spar with me. Always kicked my ass."

Well, now I felt like curling up in a little ball and staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Was I the only Centurion who'd had a normal childhood? "At least he wanted to keep you safe. He sacrificed himself to save everyone in the city. Including you."

"Yeah, I know. That doesn't matter much to a thirteen-year-old orphan. For years, I'd sit up all night wishing he'd killed Renegade the first time the bastard escaped Barrelmore. Lots of people would still be alive. Including him. But when I saw how he'd changed this city, it started to make sense. Superheroes don't just protect people. They uphold the laws. They promote justice . . . the idea that, somehow, we can be better. When Dark Justice set out to save this city, he didn't just want criminals to fear him. He arrested them and made sure they were fairly tried. He went after corrupt officials. He funded after-school programs for at-risk kids . He helped the system start working again, so that after he was gone, there'd still be order in this city. And it worked."

"Imperfectly," I said. "Just ask my mother."

A muffled version of 'Single Ladies' rang out. Cypher grinned and pulled my cellphone out of his utility belt. "I will."

My eyes widened. "Hand it over. Now!"

He pressed 'Talk'. "Hello, ma'am. I'm afraid Gloria can't come to the phone right now. Who am I? Just a friend of your daughter's."

Ignoring the pain in my swollen knee, I sprinted past and snatched the phone from his hands. "Hey, Mom," I said, from the opposite side of the bunker.

"Where are you?"

"At a friend's house." I almost said 'at Annabelle's', but she'd already heard his voice.

"Gloria, I don't care who you're with or what you're doing, but you gotta start answering my calls. There was an mass shooting at Our Lady's Will. People died."

"Since when do I hang out in Orignal?"

"We're underneath Orignal," Cypher mouthed.

"Just pick up your phone when I call you. Please." She sighed and hung up.

"Do you need a ride home?" Cypher asked. "It's the least I owe you. Don't run on that knee."

I didn't plan to. Even crossing the room had set my leg on fire. "Could you just lend me some clothes and five bucks for the bus? I'll pay you back."

He looked like I'd just told him a joke. "Yeah. I think I can do that."