The Marvels

Ep. 10 | Allies in the Slaughterhouse

Echo had to respect Fox's acting skills. He didn't even know Fairy, but when Fox addressed her murder in a solemn correspondence to CNN, her delicate, depressing words pulled a few heartstrings, even though he knew she was mad, not sad.

Celestro had lost supers before, but never to a gruesome murder like this. It hurt their pride, so figuring it out was personal. First order of business: find and talk to the subject of Fairy's last mission, which was in progress before her death. Sending Frostbite was out of the question. Flamethrower was trigger-happy and therefore a terrible interrogator. The others were busy, so the job had fallen onto Echo's shoulders.

Fairy's pager was found in the pocket of her supersuit, but it was damaged beyond repair, so he went to Celestro's dispatch room to find her last assignment. The technician brought up the details: a narc had asked for assistance in tracking down a drug kingpin named Silvera, who supposedly had a hideout somewhere in the city. Fairy was tasked with bringing him in; it was her first real job after being relegated to simple, save-a-cat-from-a-tree type missions to keep up the kid-friendly marketing. But since Silvera was, according to the technician, never found, it was Echo's job now.

Finding the kingpin was conventionally difficult: these people were smart, untraceable, and connected. But the Marvels didn't comply with conventional, and Echo reached out to every source they had, including the sleazy, criminal ones that no good hero would associate with. It would be frowned upon-the heroes shouldn't be fraternizing with enemies, they should be arresting them! But what the people didn't know couldn't hurt them. Two conversations later, and Echo had the address of Silvera's hideout.

It was night, and there were no witnesses on the old, rundown street. He hopped down the steps two at a time to the basement floor of a former bakery, now for sale. The hinges creaked as he gently pushed open the heavy door at the end of the stairs. The sheer confidence in leaving it unlocked was laughable; they knew most people wouldn't dare touch them, but they also seemed to have forgotten that they lived in the superhero capital of the world.

Or maybe they were perfectly aware, and some supers were friends, even customers.

Echo stood staring into a dark hallway, narrowing his eyes. He could hear faint voices, but it wasn't any superhuman help-he had vibration and sound-based powers, but, unfortunately, super hearing was not one of them. Somehow, Juggernaut had that. Echo was a little jealous.

He moved forward slowly. There was no light at the end, so unless the dealers were talking in the dark, there was likely a turn up ahead. He was right; the hall started to curve and lighten up, and then he came out into an open room.

It was larger than he expected, filled with ceiling-high piles of crates with plastic bags and stuffed animals poking through. Four men jumped to their feet in panic and scrambled for their guns. One of them took a long enough look at the newcomer to realize he was a Marvel, and he dropped his weapon and made a run for it through another door. It didn't seem like Silvera, so Echo let him go and focused on the other three, who were seconds away from having their weapons ready and aimed.

Echo didn't give them the chance-he wasn't bulletproof like Marv or J, and he couldn't let the bullets pass through him like Phase, so guns were a problem. He clapped his hands once, and an intense vibration resonated through the room, knocking everyone off their feet. Some crates toppled over, sending plumes of white dust into the air. Echo blinked and held his breath, realizing he should've thought that through better.

He clapped again, this time sending a screech of a sound wave that had everyone crying out and clamping their hands over their ears. Echo himself was unaffected, and he waited patiently. Two of the three dropped their weapons in surrender and scrambled for cover behind their supply. The last guy, dressed fancy in an expensive suit, backed into the wall, sliding down to the floor. This was Silvera.