Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (6 page)

They both watched the action for
another minute.  It was almost over again.  Harlot leaned forward and ordered
more men into combat.

Holly chewed thoughtfully.  “So,
how do you figure his arm got like that?”

Harlot frowned, and looked at the row
of neat evenly spaced symmetrical horizontal scars running up his left arm. 
There were a couple dozen of them, running from his hand to his shoulder. 
Weird. 

She shook her head.  “I don’t know. 
Think he got those during that thing downtown?”

Holly chewed in consideration.  “Doubt
it.”  She squinted in thought.  “Maybe one scar for every man he’s killed. 
That’d be cool.  Or maybe one for every woman he’s had.  No, one for every
ten
women.  Yeah…”

Harlot glared at her.  “I think
he’s either spying on us, or he’s here toying with us for some reason.  Just
jerking us around for his own enjoyment.”  Holly opened her mouth to reply, but
Harlot cut her off.  “And DO NOT turn that expression into something sexual.”  Holly
closed her mouth, and Harlot continued.  “He’s
planning
something, I
know it.”

“Yeah, I think you’ve said that
already.  A couple times, in fact.  You have all the makings of a fun new
outlet for your little hero obsession.”  She pursed her lips and nodded
reluctantly, as if conceding a hard point.  “It DOES make it much easier when
the person you’re stalking wants to move in with you, doesn’t it?”

Harlot glared at her and put her
hand over the microphone just in case it picked up any of their conversation. 
To make doubly sure, she lowered her voice to a whisper.  “I do
NOT
have
a hero obsession, okay?  I just collect their stuff.  I don’t agree with their
worldview; I just buy their merchandise.  It’s cool stuff!”  She looked down at
the floor.  “And besides, I need to study them if we’re going to beat them one
day, right?  Find their weaknesses?”

Holly nodded.  “Well, your
‘research’ has revealed to me that he has one weakness which we can exploit,”
She pulled a Fabricator Pez dispenser out of her pocket, and pulled back his
plastic head.  She pointed at the fight taking place below.  “You hold him
down; I’ll grab his head and go for the strawberry candy that’s apparently
hidden in his neck, according to this thing.”

Harlot’s eyes narrowed.  “Where did
you get that?  That’s not one of
mine
is it?  Because if it is, you’re
ruining its collectability by using it.”

Holly made a non-committal sound
and leaned back in her chair again.  She put her patent leather boots on the
control panel, and absently straightened her candy cane striped stockings.  “Maybe
you should just relax.”  She put her hands behind her head.  “Calm down and
study
the pretty man’s ass, Harl.”

Harlot refocused on the fight.  “He’s
dangerous, Holl.  He… he could seriously hurt us if he wanted to. 
I don’t
trust him. 
I don’t like the idea of him wandering around our offices
plotting something.  He’s a hero and does NOT belong here.
” 
She shook
her head, nightmarish images of what might happen running through her head.  “I
don’t want anyone here to get hurt.”

Holly nodded and ate another
mouthful of popcorn.  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you then, Harl.  For
what it’s worth, I think if he was going to randomly start killing us, he would
have done it by now.  And there are
far
easier ways to set us up for a
fall.  Whatever he’s planning, it’s something else.  I say we wait and see what
it is before we start panicking.”  She took another bite of her snack.  “Then
if we don’t like what he’s got to say, we’ll feed him to Poacher, Gurrier and
Tyrant.  ‘Kay?”

Harlot was silent.

This whole situation was
aggravating.  He was NOT here to join.  He was merely here to spy on them and
show his superiority over their forces.  He thought they were “sad”. 
SAD.
 
It was all a fucking game to him!  Like he could just walk away for FOUR YEARS
and then just stroll back into the limelight and make fun of them.  He’d been
gone for four years without an explanation!  Not even the tabloids knew where
he was, no matter how many she checked.  And now he wanted to just join up and
mock them!  She grabbed the microphone, feeling suddenly angry for some reason. 
“More men. 
Knives!
”

One of the men pulled a knife and
slashed Wyatt across the arm.  He turned to glare through the window at her.

Holly laughed.  “Uh-oh, I think you
pissed him off now.”  She sprang from the chair and leaned over the desk. 
“This should be good.”

Wyatt kicked the man away, and then
produced what appeared to be a Native American war club, and proceeded to spin
it around in his hands, smashing his attackers with it.

Goddammit!  They were
NOT
sad!  She was sick of people always doubting what they could do.  Always
telling her she couldn’t go somewhere because she didn’t have powers.  Never
letting her do anything fun.  Leaving her behind with nothing to do but wait
for them to get captured and sit around reading about the heroes… the boring heroes
who DIDN’T walk away from their responsibilities for FOUR YEARS, just because
life got a little tough for them.  Cowboy up, Wyatt!  Goddammit!

“
Guns!”

Half the training room turned to
question that order, but the rest of them obediently pulled their service
revolvers and took aim.  Wyatt formed a riot shield, and rounds immediately
started ricocheting off it.  He didn’t form a gun of his own though.  In fact,
she had never seen him form any shape with a moving part.  Apparently that was
too complex for his powers to handle.

Holly put the bag of popcorn down,
suddenly serious.  “Ummm… it’s getting
real
down there.  Keystone’s not
going to be able to keep himself from killing your new pet for much longer, and
then we’ll
never
get to see what he wanted from us.”

She frowned, calmly slightly.  Holly
was right.  This was getting out of hand.  The last of the men rushed to join
in the fight, and Wyatt alternated between blocking the gunshots and clubbing them. 
Keystone finally charged in; intent on taking him down himself.  Wyatt shaped a
large scythe and prepared for his attack.

“ENOUGH!”  Her voice boomed out
over the room, and everyone stopped immediately.  Keystone didn’t seem happy
about it though and glared at the control room.

Holly made an annoyed sound.  “Dammit! 
You ruined it.”

Harlot drew herself up to her full
height and tried to look like all of this was planned.  “Someone was going to
get hurt.”

Holly scoffed and began sifting
through the un-popped kernels of popcorn at the bottom of her bowl looking for
crunchy half-popped pieces.  “So?  It was totally hot!  You’re no fun.”

“
Now
who’s repeating
themselves?”

An
ass asked Zeus to be provided with a better master.  Zeus, after warning him
that he might regret the request, caused him to be sold to a stonemason. 
Shortly afterwards, finding that he had heavier loads to carry, the ass asked
for another change of master.  Zeus, telling him that it would be the last time
that he could grant his request, ordained that he be sold to a tanner.  The ass
found that he had fallen into even worse hands, and said:  "It would have
been better for me to have been either starved, or been overworked, rather than
my present owner, who will tan my hide."  Moral of the story?  He that
finds discontentment in one place is unlikely to find happiness in another

Wyatt sat in the conference room
and looked around at his surroundings.  So this was the great meeting hall of
the Consortium of Chaos, huh?  He had been expecting something…
more
. 
Not to say the room wasn’t impressive.  It was.  The walls of the room were
painted a dark gray, and the black tile floor was polished to a mirrored gleam. 
One wall was taken up with a large view-screen monitor, which was currently
turned off, and on the other wall hung an elegant portrait of the members here.

The room was dominated by a lengthy
elongated oval table with the C of C crest in the center; a circular logo
featuring a pair of red glowing eyes hovering above an image of the Earth, the
two C’s of the organization’s initials forming the unseen monster’s predatory
claws as it was about to crush the globe.  Cursive script below the insignia gave
their motto in Latin: “
Flectere si nequeo superos, Achaeronta movebo.
”  Around
the table were arranged dozens of black leather upholstered high back chairs. 

A very striking room, but not what
he had been expecting.  During his time with the heroes, he had often thought
about what his enemy’s fortress would look like.  He had spent hundreds of
hours sitting around the Freedom Squad command center, so he was naturally
curious about what things looked like on the other side of the fence.  He had imagined
the place as…
scarier
than this though.  Lava and skulls or something.    

The ACTUAL room was nothing like
that however.  They had a plate full of doughnuts on a folding table in the
corner for god’s sake!  And as for the group themselves, they seemed more
interested in loudly discussing the results of the latest reality show than
planning world domination.

Most disappointing.

He shifted in his chair, finding it
oddly off-putting to be seated so close to Harlot.  His chair was next to hers,
and he had never been so close to her for so long a time before.  The woman
was…distracting.

The Commodore stood up.  “I call
this canceled commission back to commencement from being cut-off by the
commotion.  Before we clear our charter’s commands, I cite a changed companion
in our company and confer on him a chair.  Consequently, I concede the floor to
Fabricator
.”

Harlot gave him a warm round of
applause, which Wyatt found oddly sweet.  …Especially since no one else
bothered to acknowledge him at all, except for the glares.   

The Commodore sat down and the room
fell into stony silence.  Two dozen angry pairs of eyes watched him as he rose
to his feet.  He got the feeling that the rest of them weren’t going to make
this transition easy on him.  “Thank you for that introduction, Commodore.  I’m
glad to be here and I look forward to joining you all in our new criminal
partnership.  I…”

The Cynic’s hand shot up.  “Bullshit. 
You’re the same old fucking cape you’ve
always
been, even if you’ve been
MIA for a while.  We actually had a poll going on whether or not you did
yourself in.”  He frowned.  “Looks like I owe Harlot fifty-cents.”  He tossed
the coins across the table at her, and half of the room followed suit.  “Word
on the street was that you lost your fucking mind after…”  He made a slashing
motion across his throat and his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth.  “…your
little freak-out
.”

Wyatt sighed.  He’d been expecting
that.  “True.  But how many of us can actually say that we’re the pictures of
mental health?  I see
more
than a few faces around this table that I
happen to know for a
fact
have struggled with…
instabilities...
of
their own
.
  I can assure you, however, that I have no interest in
gathering information on any of you.  I am merely here to bring about my plans,
and I need your organization’s criminal manpower to do it.”

A short blonde girl sitting at the
other end of the table and dressed as a utility worker, frowned in obvious
confusion.  “Criminal?  What do you mean by that?  We’re not
criminals
;
w
e’re
the good guys!  HEROES!”

Harlot ignored the girl, and
continued eyeing him suspiciously.  “And why can’t you just go to your Cape
buddies about this?  I mean, I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say that
we’re
thrilled
to hear you want to join…”  Cynic gave a sharp bark of
laughter, which she ignored.  “…But why us?”

He had been expecting that
question, as well.  “I’ll get to that.  Suffice to say, I doubt they will want
to help me with this plan, since it involves them.”  He took a deep breath.  “I
can understand your reticence in trusting me, though.  So, as a token of my
sincerity, I present a gift: the files on all of you kept by the Freedom Squad.” 
He opened his briefcase and removed a stack of files.  He stood up and began
walking towards the Commodore, who sat at the head of the table.  He pulled out
the first file and began reading it.  “The Consortium of Chaos.  Founded during
the Cuban Missile Crisis by child prodigy Carl Calvin Ceigh, as a ‘
corporation
conceived to combat the communist contaminant that is Canada.’ …W
hich is
just ridiculous for any number of reasons, but that’s another story.  It
branched out from its war with the snowy North very early on, though, becoming
a global organization.  Now, it’s one of the largest villain associations in
the world.  It is a tight knit group of super-villains controlled by a board of
chairmen, who meet regularly in their ‘Volcano Crater Lair’ to discuss their
plans and to aide each other in their mutual evil endeavors.”  He paused and
looked up from his paperwork.  “Is this crater volcanic?”

Harlot shook her head.  “Nope.”

“Then why call it that?  This
isn’t
a volcano.”

A woman dressed as Santa Claus
nodded seriously.  “Yeah, but we’re thinking about putting one in.  Harlot
keeps voting it down though.”  She made a face.  “She’s such a
lump of coal
,
sometimes.”

Wyatt nodded, trying his best to
ignore how incredibly stupid everything here was.  “In any case, unlike most
other super-powered criminal groups, the C of C has no larger political
motivations, and their membership boasts an impressive cross-section of
socio-economic backgrounds, and political beliefs.”

The Commodore nodded in approval
and let out a bark of laughter.  “Certainly captured my complete criminal
career.  They crave my capture in copious countries.  Completely
comical!
”

Wyatt stared down at him.  “Wow. 
You’re really going with that constant use of the letter ‘C’ thing aren’t you,
Sir? 
Committed,
if you will.  I don’t believe I’ve ever really spoken
to you for any length of time before, so I never noticed.”

The Commodore frowned and looked
uncertain at the question.  “‘C’ thing?  Come again?  I’m confused at your
concerns with my conversation.  Care to clarify?”

Wyatt gave up and came to the
conclusion that everyone here was nuts, and it would be a waste of time to try
to reason with them.  The less he talked to these people, the better.  He threw
the folder down in front of the Commodore and continued walking around the
table.  He stood behind the next chair.

“Code name: Harlot.   Real name:
Harlot Ceigh…”  He looked up at her.  “Which can’t
possibly
be your real
name, by the way, but it’s the only one you seem to use.”  His eyes narrowed. 
“
Except
for briefly going by Guard Malkin, that is, but that’s another
story.”  He refocused on the file.  “Age: 27.  Hair: black.  Eyes: violet.  Daughter
of Commodore Cruel, mother unknown, although the trace of an accent she
occasionally exhibits suggests her mother was of French-Canadian ancestry.  Expert
in martial arts, espionage, theft, burglary, film noir, gymnastics, antiques,
and renaissance art.  Huh.  Interesting mix.”  He looked down at the file.  “Terrible
picture of you though; doesn’t do you justice, at all.”  He continued.  “Majored
in theatre and history at EGU.  She is currently wanted in 8 states for being
an accessory after the fact in a variety of crimes and an unbroken streak of
breaking Consortium members out of police custody.  She is also the chief
suspect in the bombing of the Agletarian embassy last year and in the theft of…” 
He stopped and looked down at her.  “You really stole a complete fossil
dinosaur skeleton on display at the Museum? 
During
business hours? 
Wow.  Very impressive.”

He stared down at the photo for a
moment longer.  Even her BAD pictures were beautiful.  The woman was a vision. 
He tossed her file down in front of her. 

She flipped through it quickly, apparently
astonished to find her whole life listed out inside.  “Jesus!  You bastards know
EVERYTHING!  Creepy.  …You’re right though, it is a
terrible
picture. 
Ick.  Like it was taken by the DMV or something.”  She looked down the table at
one of her coworkers.  “Cory, can you make sure to leak a better picture of me
to the media at some point, please?”

Wyatt continued walking down the
table and stood behind the next chair.  “Code name: Missile-Tow.  Real name:  Holiday
Season (‘Holly’) Claus.  Age: Unknown, but she is believed to be eternal. 
Hair: White-blonde with a streak of red.  Eyes: Green.  Head of the C of C’s
Weapons Department.  Claiming to be the daughter of
Santa Claus…” 
He
snorted.
  “…
Yeah, that’s real likely. …She is an expert in ‘toy making,’
which seems to mainly consist of designing weapons.  She is an expert in
munitions, weapons design, manufacturing/tooling, demolition, shopping, and has
unclassifiable magical abilities the extent of which was never precisely
determined by the Squad.  She is aided by her…”  He stopped and read the next
words like it was the stupidest thing he had ever heard.  “Flying ‘
Slay
’
pulled by eight ‘
PainDeer
’.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “I had no
idea that’s what you called those things, but it saddens me.”  He continued
reading the next entry and tried to forget the idiocy of these people.  “She is
currently wanted in all 50 states and 22 countries for murder, high treason,
regicide, arson, theft, kidnapping, carjacking, airplane hijacking,
sleigh
-jacking,
the illegal manufacture and distribution of explosives and firearms, violations
of Articles 1 and 5 of the
International Antarctic Treaty
due to her
setting up a ‘toy shop’ at the
South
Pole, tax evasion, carnal
knowledge… aaaaand the list just keeps going and I don’t have time to read all
the charges.”  He turned the page.  “She is only
two
appearances shy
of
tying the all-time record for most appearances
ever
on the
America’s
Public Enemies
TV show, an honor which is currently held by Poacher…”  The
man at the other end of the table who was dressed like a big game hunter,
smiled in pride.  “…who has appeared a staggering
eleven
times.”

Half the room gave Poacher a round
of applause, and the other half were clearly jealous of his achievement.

Holly grabbed the file from Wyatt’s
hands and laughed as she flipped through it.  “Hey!  They even have that time I
kidnapped the President!  That was a fun one!”

Wyatt sighed.  “Yes.  Great fun. 
As I recall, you tried to club me to death with a big titanium candy cane when
I attempted to free him, and then you had an army of giant robotic gingerbread
men run amuck through the downtown shopping district, blasting everything with
their ‘gumdrop grenades’.”

She smiled.  “Oh , don’t worry.  You
can hardly see the scar at all.”  She giggled and moved her arms robotically. 
“Robots are so
holly-jolly
.”  She made little laser sounds and then
giggled some more.

He sighed dramatically and moved to
the next chair.  “Code name: Henchmen.  Real name: Kevin Hench.  Age: 34. 
Hair: Brown.  Eyes: Brown.  No known powers.  No outstanding warrants.”  He
stopped and looked down at the man.  “And that’s all we had on you.  You really
don’t actually
do
a lot around here besides constantly get arrested, do
you?  This whole file is just your mug shots and your arrest history.”

Hench frowned.  “Hey!  How come
Holly’s file is like two feet thick, and you guys didn’t bother following me! 
I’ve done stuff!  LOADS of evil things!”

Wyatt rolled his eyes.  “Yes, I’m
sure you’re a criminal mastermind.  We’re all suitably impressed.”  He turned
to the next file and glanced across the table at its subject.   The man looked
and dressed like a typical slacker, and was slouched low in his chair,
apparently trying to fix his flip flop with duct tape.  Charming man.

“Code name: The Cynic.  Real name:
Unknown.  Age: unknown.  Hair: Dark brown.  Eyes:  Red…which is really creepy
looking, by the way.  Runs the
Department of Information Gathering and
Unrestrained Criticism
for the C of C… whatever that is… but little else is
known about him.  Paranoid conspiracy theorist, who first rose to national
prominence by attempting to abduct the ‘Alec the Rooster’ puppet from the
Farmer
Frank’s Barnyard Friends
children’s television show…”