Hero Stalker

Part Sixty-Seven

David Randolph. I had accidentally befriended the richest man in Bayton. I'd eaten pizza with him. I'd let him pull splinters from my naked back. All this time, he'd been partying with celebrities, dining on caviar, and throwing the stock market into chaos each time he sneezed.

"I didn't know," I whispered, stunned.

"Bullshit. I'm just wearing a mask."

With the grace of a well-trained dancer, he pivoted and drove his leg into my ribcage. My old bruises screamed in protest as I hit the ground back-first. Pain shot up my spine as my healing scabs burst open. Petty and rude? Me? I flipped back onto my feet and ran at him. I'd twist sideways at the last minute and flip him like Slasher had taught me.

But Cypher anticipated the move, and grabbed my arm before I could grab his. My boots skidded on the marble as he spun me sideways into his chest. Then he danced around me and drove his foot into my shin. My face slammed into a pillar. The taste of plaster filled my mouth. I left a mask-shaped hole behind. Reproductions. Figures.

Enough. I put the full force of my superspeed behind a single flying kick. Cypher grabbed my leg and swung me backwards. I skidded along the floor like a hockey puck and hit a box of sound equipment. My chest burned as I jumped to my feet. His dad was Dark Justice. He's trained since he was seven.

"Want to try that again?" Cypher seemed to be amusing himself. Sick bastard.

My head hung low as I crossed the hall. You won. See? As soon as I got close enough, I whipped my arm around and tried to punch him in the face. He blocked it. He blocked the fist I had going for his gut as well, and held both of them steady. A smile crept across his face.

That almost made me feel bad for what I'd planned to do next. Almost. My knee sailed upward and hit metal. Clang!

"Bitch," Cypher gasped as he limped off to the bathroom.

Another popular theory from The Worldley Fewe confirmed. Male Centurions did indeed wear enough armor over their groins to stop a train. I had a feeling that female Centurions had requested they do so, to maintain a professional workspace.

"You telegraph your punches, Shadowcat." Slasher walked through the front doors. The conversations of the seated VIPs spilled in along with him. "He knew what you were doing half a second before you did. When you train as much as he does, it becomes instinctual. I want you sparring with him every day, got that? It's the only way you'll get better."

"Why can't I just spar with you?"

"Because we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good. I'm asking you to put up with him for half an hour a day. Pretty easy as sacrifices go."

I flinched. He was right.

"Now, Shadowcat." Femme grabbed my arm and steered me towards the front doors. "As team captain, I'll be the one administering the oath. You just have to put your hand on the Bible and repeat after me."

"I know the words."

"It's tradition, dear. After you finish, I want you to run out and flip over that monstrous sushi thing Peregrine ordered. Try to land on your feet. Take a bow, and come back up to the stand. Give a few remarks on the defeat of Harpy. I'll handle the rest."

Harpy. I shivered. "Do we have any new leads on the machine?"

"We'll get to that," she said. "Right now, we need to get through this. Stand still."

She pulled a violet disk out of her utility belt and gave it a spin. Thin trays of eye shadow shot out from the middle. Each one contained rings of different color. "We'll go with the bright purple," she decided, and held up a matching stick of lip gloss. Ten minutes later, I wore more makeup than I ever had in my life. Cypher could barely hold back laughter as he walked back in.

"We all look a little ridiculous sometimes," I told him. Though I doubted that applied to David Randolph. Whether he was golfing with royalty in Dubai or shaking hands with Barak Obama, he'd never been photographed looking less than perfect. And certainly not with globs of fat in his hair.

Cypher pulled out a yellow rod out of his belt. With a twist, it extended into a staff over five feet in length. "Hey, Shadowcat, I had this on me all along."

Show off. I stuck out my tongue at him.

He laughed and put the staff away. "They're using crappy sound equipment, by the way. I sense five working speakers out of the fifty these amateurs brought. Where's the normal crew?"

"Bet a supervillain ate their livers," Pulse said. "Again."

Femme slathered another layer of foundation on my chin. The scrape from my battle with Harpy refused to disappear. Outside the building, the sound of the crowd swelled. They must have opened the venue to the general public. Almost show time. My stomach fluttered. "Why are we doing this, Femme? It's all just an act."

"We're doing this for the same reason we wear costumes and use code names. People want to believe that it's heroes who protect them from evil. Heroes. Not other people. They want to believe that the dangerous psi-positives all wear uniforms." She painted a layer of dark red over her lips and walked through the doors, swaying on her stilettos. Pulse and Cypher followed her out.

"Let's get this show on the road," Slasher muttered.

I leant back against a pillar and buried my head in my hands. Who did I think I was kidding? I was about to swear a sacred oath to protect this city and I couldn't even beat up one guy without combat powers. I'd promise to reject unnecessary violence after trying to kill a man on Monday. I'd vow to reject self-glorification and spend half my time posing for cameras and lying to the public. Real heroes didn't do shit like that.

"Cold feet?" Slasher said.

I sank down to the base of the pillar, fighting a bizarre urge to peel off my mask and stare at it. "I can't do this. Being a Centurion is nothing like I expected. I can't be a hero. I've got the costume and the powers, but I can't do it. Not this way."

"So don't. Don't do it Femme's way. Hell, you don't even have to do it my way. Shadowcat, when you put on a mask, you become a different person. And you have to choose who that person is going to be." He extended his hand. "Come on. It's your big day."