Showing posts with label superheroes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label superheroes. Show all posts

Friday, May 10, 2024

Reasons You'll Love Game On

Hey'a, all! If you're a fan of H.L. Burke's Supervillain Rehabilitation Project universe like I am, you know that this is a pretty exciting month. For one thing, we have the DOSA Files Kickstarter, which has hit its first stretch goal (an audiobook version of the anthology) and is reaching for the next (downloadable coloring pages). For another, Burke is launching another new series in this world: the Supervillain Legacy Project, which focuses on our next generation of superheroes. Book one, Game On, releases in just a few weeks on May 24. I was lucky enough to get an ARC, and let me tell you that this is a really fun read that's simultaneously rewarding for long-time fans and a great entry point for newcomers. If you're anything like me, you're going to love it . . . and, of course, I have five reasons why that's the case.

 

Reasons You'll Love Game On

  1. H.L. Burke knows how to do next-generation stories well. Next-generation stories are always a risk — after all, there's so many ways they can go wrong, whether they echo the originals too much, present beloved original-generation characters in an unflattering light (or kill them off entirely), or commit a myriad of other storytelling sins. However, Burke avoids all these missteps with a story that honors the rest of the canon while still being something new. Ruby, Curran, and Oliver may echo past characters, but only in the way that kids normally echo parents or other influential people in their lives. The storyline is very different than the rest of the books — rather than a fight versus a supervillain, we have a superhero tournament (which, let's be real, is exactly the kind of PR stunt we knew DOSA would pull eventually). And we see plenty of past characters, either as mentors or in brief cameos, but they don't steal the spotlight, and where they fall short, it's in ways consistent with their past characterization.
  2. The connections to past books are really fun. Game On has ties to pretty much all the past SVR series, and the list of appearances is almost like a "Who's Who" of the DOSA-verse. Ruby and Curran are Fade and Prism's kids, obviously, while Oliver last appeared in Wishing on a Supervillain. The story also features Jake and Laleh as significant secondary characters (Jake is the one adult to get POV chapters, and his dynamic with Laleh is still so good) and a few characters from Second Chance Superhero, along with some other reappearing characters in more minor roles. I loved getting to see Prism and Fade in full-on parent mode (and seeing the success of Prism's dreams!) and getting updates on a lot of past characters and their lives.
  3. It's a great way to discover the SVR-verse. This might sound contradictory, given that I just talked about how Game On has so many connections to past books. However, the story itself doesn't require a lot of background knowledge to understand, and what is required is explained in the narrative. Ruby, Curran, and Oliver are very much their own characters with their own stories, and I think you could easily pick this up and fully enjoy it without having read any previous SVR books. And the fact that the story does have so many connections kind of gives new readers an idea of where they might like to read next — someone curious about Prism and Fade would go to the original series next, someone who loves Jake and Laleh's dynamic could pick up the Superhero Rescue Project, and so on.
  4. It's a family-focused story. This is true of most SVR-verse books, but it's particularly true here. All three kids have very strong bonds with, love for, and pride in their families — Ruby's whole thing, in fact, is wanting to not just compete in the Games but specifically to compete in them with her family by her side. The story is also very much, as the series name would suggest, about legacies and about the way your family affects you and the way others perceive you.
  5. It's a YA book that still has reasonable adults. We all know that adults — parents especially — are often the antagonists in YA books, whether that's intentional or not in-world. That is not the case in Game On. All three main characters have strong, healthy relationships with their parents, even in circumstances where other authors would see bitterness as a character-justified way to add drama. That's not to say that all these relationships are perfect, but they're realistically loving. Even adults who do act as an obstacle to some degree generally (with one or two exceptions) aren't seeking to be cruel; they're just acting realistically.

Are you ready to pick up Game On? If so, make sure to preorder it on Amazon and add it on Goodreads. Before you go, though, tell me in the comments: what other really good next-generation stories have you enjoyed?
Thanks for reading!

Monday, April 29, 2024

Introducing the DOSA Files Kickstarter!

 

Hello, everyone! I have two pieces of exciting news. First, some of you may be aware of H.L. Burke’s Supervillain Rehabilitation Project (SVR) universe, nineteen books and five series’ worth of superhero and supervillain stories that combine epic action with plenty of heart and humor. Recently, Burke decided to open up her world for other authors to explore by putting together an anthology of short stories and novellas.

Naturally, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to play in one of my favorite storyworlds or to switch things up by getting back to writing superhero action (a genre I experimented with quite a bit when I was in high school and college). And I’m happy to announce that my short story, “Save {Point}” will be a part of the anthology, alongside other stories from authors like Amber Gabriel, Jenelle Leanne Schmidt, C.O. Bonham, and of course Burke herself.

The second piece of exciting news? Burke has just launched a Kickstarter to help fund the anthology and make it the best it can be. You can back the project to receive rewards ranging from a copy of the anthology (with your name in the acknowledgements) to a spot in a SVR-verse TTRPG session hosted by Burke — or, if you really want to make the author’s day, you can spring for the highest reward tier and get yourself a cameo in a future SVR novel.

Oh, and as a bonus? If the campaign hits its first stretch goal, Burke and one of the other authors, Rena Gail, will produce an audiobook of the anthology! (That would be my first time having one of my stories or books in audio form, so I’m very much hoping we can get there.)

So, go be a hero — check out the Kickstarter now!
Thanks for reading!

Friday, September 8, 2023

Thoughts on Second Chance Superhero

Hey'a, all! First of all, today is the final day of nominations for the Silmaril Awards, so if you haven't already gone in and nominated and seconded your favorite characters, make sure you do that before it's too late! Moving on: as y'all may know, I've been following H.L. Burke's Supervillain Rehabilitation Project universe for a while now. While I'm not totally caught up, I did manage to snag an ARC of the latest book in this world, Second Chance Superhero. This is the third in a set of standalone spinoffs that focus more on the superhero side than the supervillain side of things. I really enjoyed this book — as I have pretty much all the books in this universe — and since Second Chance Superhero releases tomorrow, I thought I'd stop in and share my thoughts.

About . . .

Second Chance Superhero

Once a slacker, now a superhero, but will his ex buy the change?

Eleven years ago, Brayden Water's high school sweetheart slammed the door in his face. Floundering, he found purpose first in the military, then by volunteering for genetic enhancements and joining the Department of Super-Abled as a full-time hero. Just when everything's looking up, a family emergency summons him back to the hometown he gleefully put in his rearview. And guess who else is back in town?

Rachel Blum has had it with men in general. A single mom who managed to scratch her way through medical school, she's accepted that she can't depend on anyone ... especially not her sometimes criminal baby daddy, and definitely not her high school ex who has popped up out of nowhere after a decade of radio silence. Dang, though, Brayden's even hotter than she remembered, and there's ... something different about him now, though she can't quite put her finger on what. Could he really have finally gotten his act together? Can she take the risk?

Brayden's bitterness over Rachel's rejection slowly turns to admiration and begrudging affection. But even if he drops the fact that he can now fly and shoot lasers out of his eyes, will she ever see him as anything but a small-town loser? When her son's father starts causing trouble, though, Brayden realizes, she might just need a hero in her life after all.

Order on Amazon || Add on Goodreads || Discover the SVR series

H.L. Burke

H. L. Burke has written more books than she can count—because she's written a lot of books, not just because she can't count very high. Easily distracted by shinies, she has published in many subgenres including fantasy romance, Steampunk, and superhero, and always creates story worlds with snark, feels, and wonder.

Married to her high school crush, she spends her time writing, spoiling her cat, and supervising her two supervillains in training (aka her precocious daughters).

An Oregon native, she wilts without trees and doesn't mind the rain. She is a fan of delicious flavor, a follower of the Light, and a believer in happily ever after.

Find Heidi online at: Author Website || Facebook || Instagram || Twitter

Thoughts on Second Chance Superhero

  1. This is definitely a romance first and a superhero story second. Some of you are looking at me and saying "No duh, Sarah, it says Superhero Romance Project right there in the series name. What did you expect?" Whether or not you are one of those people, I would like to point out that many of H.L. Burke's superhero or supervillain romances are superhero and romance in equal part. Second Chance Superhero, on the other hand, is primarily a romance that happens to involve a superhero as one half of the romantic pair. There's a little bit of suspense and action, and what's there is very well-done as always, but it's far from the main focus of the book. That's not a bad thing by any means, but it is good to know what to expect going in.
  2. Speaking of knowing what to expect: pretty much everything you love about H.L. Burke's writing and the SVR-verse is here. Well, unless you read these books exclusively for the Powell and Park families. But otherwise, this book has everything! Superheroes! Snark! Humor! Characters who feel like real people, with all the messiness that entails! Excellent relationships of both the romantic and non-romantic varieties! So much good stuff!
  3. The romance is very sweet and shippable. Well, it ends up sweet. It starts with heartbreak that both parties are still feeling fifteen years later (even if they deny it). Basically, you have childhood/high school sweethearts who broke up but still care a lot about each other, and I am so here for it. Burke handles the relationship so well — acknowledging the inherent awkwardness of the situation without dwelling on it too much, letting the feelings well back up at a good pace, allowing for the inevitable period of I'm-totally-just-being-friendly-I'm-not-in-love-what-are-you-talking-about without dragging it out. (Side note: the "Noooo I'm totally not in love" in-denial trope is hard to do well, but when it is done well, I actually really love it. It gives such delicious irony.) And, as in all of Burke's books, the romance is a good balance between physical attraction and admiration of the other's character.
  4. I love that the parent/child relationships in this book are almost as important (if not just as important) as the romance. Like, yes, the romance here is the main draw. But this is very much also a book about parent-child relationships, some good (like Rachel and her son, Danny, or Rachel and her father, Joel) and some awful (like Brayden's relationship with his mom, who is going to end up one of the most despised characters in SVR for the same reason that everyone hates Umbridge in Harry Potter). Burke spends a good bit of page time exploring the ways that these relationships have shaped the characters. Also on this note: I absolutely love Joel Blum. I'm a sucker for granddad characters, and I also loved the interactions between him and Rachel. I could be forgetting things, but I feel like positive relationships between parents and adult kids are really rare in speculative fiction? And here we have one that's loving and healthy and important, and it's so good.
  5. I would definitely read more about these characters. Do Brayden, Rachel, and Danny need another book? Not really. But would I read more about them anyway, if Burke came up with another storyline featuring them or decided to bring them into other stories. I love the characters as individuals, and I love their relationships and dynamics together.

Does Second Chance Superhero sound like your cup of tea? If so, make sure to preorder it on Amazon and add it on Goodreads. And before you go, tell me in the comments: in the balance of superhero and romance, do you prefer an equal blend or more of one or the other? Also, if you know of any spec-fic books featuring positive parent-and-adult-kid relationships, please let me know of that too.
Thanks for reading!

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Fight Song Chapter 22

Guys, it's over. Last week, Callie finally faced down Welsh once and for all. And this week? This is the very last chapter of Fight Song. And I'd just like to say thank you all for reading my novella, for commenting, and for generally being awesome. Also, thanks for the girls over at the Teenage Superhero Society for letting me borrow their characters throughout the novella. I really enjoyed getting back into the world of Foundry City for a bit. 

Anyway. Enjoy the last chapter. As always, if you have any comments, questions, critiques, or suggestions on the chapter or the whole story, I'd love to hear them. Thanks again for sticking with Callie and me all this time!


Chapter 22: Four Weeks Later

I met Jonathan at the Starbucks down the street from the courthouse an hour before I needed to be inside. I’d become increasingly familiar with this area over the last week since Welsh’s trial began. Usually, of course, I came here as Songbird, talking about my investigation or my confrontation with Welsh. But today I was just Callie, one of my own star witnesses, one of only three people to see Welsh’s murders in person and live to tell the tale.

Starbucks was crammed full, but Jonathan sat at a table by the door, easy to spot. He stood and held out a tall green cup as I approached. “Don’t sit down.”

“Hello to you too, Jonathan.” I took the cup and sipped the rich, dark liquid. Jonathan had gotten me his fancy Kenyan coffee again, this time with caramel and cinnamon and no cream. I think I might be addicted. “Why am I not sitting?”

“Because you’re going to be sitting for at least four hours after this, and this place is crowded.” Jonathan dodged around me and headed for the door. “There’s a park down the street; we’ll go there.”
He had two very valid points, so I followed him out and down the busy street. All the same, his being right didn’t stop me from giving him a teasing grin. “You’ve gotten bossy since you became a big-shot reporter, you know that?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “I’m not that big-shot. Not like Mr. Keller.”

“Uh-huh. And whose name is under half the headlines on the Herald’s front page for the last several weeks?” I nudged him with my elbow. “Mr. Big-Shot Reporter Jonathan Davis, covering the arrival of a new superhero in town and, what did you call it? ‘The biggest crime and trial that Foundry City’s seen in decades,’ wasn’t it?”

“Well, it helps that the new superhero in question gives me precedence every time she talks to reporters. Almost like she’s trying to use her time in the spotlight to give my career a boost too.” Jonathan grinned back. “And being an eyewitness to most of the investigation and the final battle doesn’t hurt either.”

“I bet.” We reached the park, a small area of grass and trees with a playground off to one side. I lowered my voice slightly, though the heat meant most people were avoiding the outdoors.

“Starlight’s still annoyed that I involved you, by the way. The other night, when I went out— I don’t know if she actually came looking for me or if she just ran into me, but she definitely told me off.” I paused, recalling her exact words. “She said that if I wanted to ‘collaborate with the press,’ that was my business and my risk to take, but endangering civilians was the last thing any good super should be doing. Not exactly in those words, but you get the idea.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own coffee. “And you told her?”

“That you figured out who I was on your own, had helped me through the entire investigation, and would keep the secrets I asked you to keep. Also, that you knew the risks and wouldn’t have stayed away from the confrontation even if I tried to make you.” I sighed. “She let it go after that, thank goodness.”

“She’s probably glad to have another person on patrol, whatever she thinks of the company you keep.” Jonathan adjusted the strap of his satchel. “By the way, do your parents know about . . . all this?”

“They know what I told them, so basically what’s in the papers. They don’t know about Songbird. And they aren’t going to. They worry enough as it is.” A pair of teens on bikes passed us, and we stepped aside to let them by. “And if they found out . . . they’d try to make me stop. And I don’t want to deal with that. Not now that I’ve finally found the courage to do what I was meant to do.”

“Ah. Probably safer for them that way too.” Jonathan fell silent, and we walked and sipped our drinks until we reached the edge of the park. There we stopped, shaded by trees on either side of the path.
“So.” I finally broke the silence. “How are you doing? Personally, I mean, not with the papers?”
“I’m fine.” Jonathan shrugged. “Keeping busy. Trying to figure out what I’ll do after I no longer have all this to consume my life. What about you? Are you feeling ok still?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Not dead yet.” The first couple days, I’d felt so exhausted that I struggled to summon even a zombie-like amount of energy, and I’d been seriously terrified that Welsh had killed me after all. But a third day had passed, and a fourth, and my energy returned, so I figured I’d probably escaped. “I still have nightmares sometimes. Not as bad as the first week, but occasionally. I came so close to just giving up . . . it scared me.”

“But you didn’t give up,” Jonathan says. “You kept fighting. That’s the important part.”

“Right. Thank God for that.” I mean it. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that the fact that I could sing amidst the Death Song was an outright miracle.

We started walking again, headed towards the courthouse. I took another drink of coffee before asking, “What do you think will happen to Welsh?”

“My guess would be the death penalty. With our evidence; your, Ana, and Uhjin’s testimonies; and what the court’s telepath found . . . there’s no denying that he’s guilty.” Jonathan shook his head. “At the very least, he’ll face life with no bail. All Welsh’s money and power can’t erase how many lives he’s taken.”

“No.” I expected to feel glad to Jonathan’s prediction that Welsh will die for his crimes, but instead, it’s just . . . satisfaction. I can’t be glad that the Death Song will play again, even for one who wielded it so cruelly. But I’m satisfied that I’ve done what I’ve set out to do and that he won’t be able to kill another man.

Jonathan nudged me, and I realized I’d zoned out. “Hey, Callie?”

I looked over at him. “Yeah?”

“Now that this is over . . .” Jonathan made a vague gesture in the general direction of the courthouse. “Will Songbird stick around?”

“Yes.” I smiled, glancing not towards the courthouse but towards my apartment and the streets I’ve taken to patrolling between here and there. “This is who she is. I know that now. Her songs were always meant to be fight songs— and I wouldn’t change that. Not for anything."

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

Fight Song Chapter 21

Hello, everyone! Last time on Fight Song, Callie's faceoff against Welsh finally began. It continues— and ends— this week. But who will come out the winner? Read on to find out! As always, comments, critiques, questions, and suggestions are more than welcome.

Chapter 21: Ending

            The man, shocked, lost his grip on Jonathan, who tumbled to the side. No one but me seemed to notice; they were all, even Welsh, fixated on Starlight as she leapt from the motel roof and slid down sheer air to the ground. I stood and glanced at her. “What took you so long?”

            “You seemed to have it under control.” Starlight surveyed the scene. “Are we finishing this?”

            “We are.” With that, I tucked my violin beneath my chin once more and started to play and hum at once— controlled fire and indiscriminate air together. The four men nearest me gasped for breath; the one who wanted Jonathan’s camera, who’s just pulled a knife, yelled as his blade and glove abruptly heat up and then burst into flames.

            Two of the four dropped to the ground unconscious; the other two were nearly there. Starlight turned the red-hot blade of the camera-lover into vapor. “Deal with Welsh. I’ll handle these.”

            “Thanks!” I walked forward, closing the distance between myself and Welsh, switching songs. Now my violin wove air and heat, and I hummed asphalt. I tugged at Welsh’s breath, softened the ground beneath him, heated his suit jacket until it smoked— not quite burning, not yet. I needed to provoke him, needed to put him on the offensive.  If this went wrong, I’d die— maybe not for nothing, but dead is dead. But if I didn’t take the risk, I had no chance to win.

            Welsh’s hands tightened into fists, and he spoke, his voice full of power even when he was half-gasping. “Stop.” And I did, freezing mid-note. Welsh took a moment to catch his breath and then beckoned. “Come.”

            Again, I obeyed. Out of instinct, I fought the command, but my legs walked forward all the same. Just as well that Welsh gave me no choice to back out or lose my resolve.

            I stopped directly in front of him. He pointed downwards. “Drop the violin.”

            I cringed at that more than I had at walking to my probable death, but my hands moved of their own accord, letting violin and bow fall to the ground. I winced again when Welsh stepped on the neck of the violin, snapping it in two. “You—!”

            “Quiet,” Welsh snapped. My mouth shut at once. “Kneel.”

            I dropped to my knees, unable to do otherwise. Welsh shoved my hood back and grabbed the back of my neck. “Your gift is strong, little songbird. You fought well. But now your fight is done. You lose.”

            And then the pain began.

            Ana spoke of excruciating, soul-sucking pain. But even that description fell short of the reality. I could not move. I could not think. I could not even breathe, let alone sing.

              And why would I want to? I was a fool to try to fight. A fool to think I could win. Welsh was right; my fight was over. The Death Song filled my ears, blocking out all other melodies. For the first time, I realized that there was a certain beauty in the midst of the corruption, even with the twisted anti-notes: the beauty of destruction, of endings, of the wild, reckless storm and the crunch of dry, brown leaves underfoot.

            I wanted to let go. To lose myself in those not-notes and understand how they could form beauty from horror, knowing that the pain would stop. That everything would stop. The long nights. The uncertainty. The weariness. The doubts. The loneliness that I know will only grow with the path I’ve chosen. It will all stop.

            But then, faintly, I heard something beyond the Death Song. I heard Jonathan, starting to yell my name and then correcting himself to “Songbird!” midway through. I heard Starlight, ordering me to pull myself together. And in my memory, I heard Uhjin telling me not to die; I heard Ana telling me to finish this, to end the killings.

            I couldn’t let go. Couldn’t give up. That had never been an option. I had fought too long and made too many promises for that. Even if I failed in the end, I had to try.

            “God help me,” I whispered, or thought I whispered. I couldn’t tell. I struggled to remember the anti–Death Song; to pull back from the song enough to hear the whole— a whole that was corrupted, no matter what beauty it might hide. “God, help.”

            I clenched my hands into fists, dug my nails into my palms so hard I felt them through my gloves. For a moment, the anti-notes of the Death Song merged enough that I could match it with what I had heard before. I seized that, recalled what I had practiced again and again, and forced the first notes past my lips. My voice cracked; I took a breath and tried again, singing one note, then another. I paused again; adjusted to match note to note and beat to beat. Started again.

            My performance would’ve earned me an F from any of my music professors, but I heard the Death Song waver ever so slightly with every note I sang. I felt its grip loosen enough that I could breathe, and I continued to sing. If nothing else, my song pushed me out of the center of the anti-song and allowed me to hear it as I had before: the jarring, mind-rending not-notes twisted together in a mockery of true music.

            Now I could fight. I adjusted again and heard the Death Song stutter and jar and skip. It became weaker, not fading altogether, but taking longer and longer to recover after each break. I’ve won this. Thank God, I’ve won this.

            Welsh’s grip on my neck tightened; his voice rose above the battling melodies. “What are you doing? Stop! Stop!”

            His voice froze my throat and my tongue, and the Death Song surged, filling my ears and mind again. But I felt sudden wetness above me, and Welsh’s control of me wavered and vanished, and my song burst from my lips again, stronger than before. The Death Song wavered, skipped, cracked, starting to fade.

            Then I heard the sirens and felt Welsh pull his hand away as quick as if he’d been burned. With his power no longer feeding it, the Death Song splintered, broke, and was silent. I looked up, breathing deep now that I no longer had to sing, and saw Welsh turn to run.

            But two police cards, lights flashing like Fourth of July, pulled up at the end of the side street. Another two covered the far end of the alley. Blue-uniformed officers climbed out of the cars, guns held ready. One called through a megaphone: “Stay where you are, and put your hands up!”

            Welsh stopped and raised his hands to chest level. “Officers, I’m glad you’re here. This young woman has wrongly accused me of multiple crimes and attempted to murder me; I barely managed to defend myself.”

            “Actually, officers—” Jonathan stood up from where he’d taken cover behind a trash can and held up his iPhone. “My name is Jonathan Davis, reporter for the Herald. I believe you’ll find that Mr. Welsh is not in the least the victim. I recorded the whole fight, and—”

            “Stop.” Welsh hissed out the word.

            Jonathan froze midway to the officers, the phone still in his hand. Welsh turned to the officer who seemed to be in charge. “Officer, this reporter has been hounding my offices for weeks, searching for a scandal. He is not to be relied upon.”

            “I don’t plan to rely on him, only his footage, Mr. Welsh. And now I suggest you keep your mouth shut; the effects of your tongue are unfortunately incriminating.” The officer turned to Jonathan. “Jonathan Davis, you say? I read your article on the immigration protests a couple weeks back. Well done. I’ll take that phone now; you’ll get it back once we’re done with the footage.” He took Jonathan’s phone and then looked past Welsh to Starlight. “Starlight, ma’am, I received a call saying that you and another superhero were fighting this man and several others. Is that true?”

            Starlight stood in the center of a group of unconscious, injured, and otherwise restrained men, arms crossed and not even breathing hard. “That is accurate, officer. However, I suggest you speak to my associate.” She nodded in my direction. “This is her business; I’m just lending a hand.”

Her associate? Who . . . Oh. Me. I stood; swayed; nearly fell back down. “Oh—” I stumbled a few steps to the right until I could balance myself with a hand on a convenient lamppost. Great. So much for looking capable and in-control. “Right. Yes. Um.” Focus, Callie. “Right. Officers, for some time now, I have been tracking down a murderer— a serial killer, in fact—and all evidence points to this man.” I pointed to Welsh. “I confronted him, offering him a chance to turn himself in and hope for a lighter sentence. He refused and attacked me and my—” Can’t say partner; Jonathan’s not a super, so I borrow Starlight’s word— “my other associate, Mr. Davis, who had been assisting me in my investigation. He then attempted to kill me using the same power he did for his other victims, and he would have succeeded had I not found a way to fight that power using my own.”

I indicated Jonathan. “As he said, he has footage of the whole thing on his phone, and the first part of my interaction with Welsh, including the part where Welsh ordered his men to assault J— Mr. Davis, was also recorded on another camera. The memory card for that is in the pockets of one of Welsh’s men. Aaaaand there should be a third camera somewhere around here, but Mr. Davis could tell you better than I could where.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a few cameras, Miss . . .?”

“Songbird. And, yes, that would be the point— so that if I died, there would be some record of how and why.” Despite my best efforts, I found myself leaning more and more on the lamppost to keep from falling over. “And I’ll be happy to give you a more complete statement once Welsh is in custody, but as I’m pretty sure I mentioned, I very nearly died a moment ago, and I think I need a place to sit down maybe.” I paused. “And coffee. Definitely coffee.”

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

Fight Song Chapter 20

Hello, everyone! Happy Independence Day to all my fellow American readers! Last time on Fight Song, Callie put the final pieces of her plan in place and gained an unxpected ally. This time, well, let's just say that the exciting part has officially begun! Enjoy! As always, any comments, critiques, questions, or suggestions are welcome.


Chapter 20: Confrontation

            With my confrontation with Welsh less than two days away, I found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else. My fellow worship band members commented the next morning on how distracted I seemed, and at work on Monday, I ended up stocking a whole display with the wrong yarn because I was so busy planning for that night. Welsh hadn’t responded to the email, but surely he would show up, wouldn’t he? Surely he couldn’t risk ignoring it altogether, not when I’d shown him that I had evidence against him. And he couldn’t afford to go to the authorities himself either, not when that might mean they’d decide to look into the activities I claimed to know about. He had to come meet me, if only— in his mind— so he could silence me for good.

            But what if he didn’t?

            The thought nagged at me no matter how much I tried to convince myself that it would never happen. I could take what Jonathan and I had found to the police, yes. Maybe it, along with my and Uhjin and Ana’s testimonies, would be enough after all. But I still feared it wouldn’t be, not without something to arouse their suspicion in the first place.

            Monday afternoon arrived at last. Uhjin was the first to move into position, leaving just after dinner. She gave me an annoyed look as she slung her overnight bag over her shoulder. “Are you sure I have to leave this early? I’ll be waiting for hours; it’ll be so boring.”

            “The hotel has WiFi. And you’re the one who wanted to help. If you get in any later, Welsh might notice and get suspicious. And yes, it does have to be you in the motel room; you’re the only one with a car that has out-of-state plates.” I opened the door for her. “Remember, your job is to take video and call the police, and that’s it.”

            “I know. I’m not stupid.” Uhjin sighed. “Be careful, ok? Don’t die; I don’t have time to break in a new roommate.”

            “I’ll do my best.” I managed to grin. “See you later.”

            “See you.” She headed out and down the stairs to the parking lot. I breathed a sigh of relief. Masquerading as a student on a summer road trip, she should be safe from Welsh’s notice. And during the fight, she’d be in a motel room with a window overlooking our meeting place, at least if all went to plan. There’d be next to no chance that she’d be connected with us. She’d run next to no risk, and, from a more pragmatic view, if anything went wrong, she’d have it on film so perhaps my death would still result in Welsh’s conviction.

            With Uhjin gone, I was left alone to wait for the right time to leave the apartment. I practiced my songs and tried to catch an hour or two of sleep before the long night that was coming. At nine o’clock, Jonathan texted to let me know that he and his cameras were in position. I didn’t envy him; his was arguably the riskiest and least comfortable part of the plan. He’d be waiting for another two hours in whatever hiding spot he’d chosen, and if Welsh showed up early and discovered him before I arrived, well, he’d have no way to defend himself. I prayed he wouldn’t be discovered.

            I gave up on trying to sleep and turned solely to practice. I ran through all the songs I thought I’d need— concrete, air, light, fire, steel, my best approximation of the Anti–Death Song, then checked and double-checked that my violin was tuned and that all the strings were in good condition. They were and I returned to practicing, making sure I could either play or sing every song on my list for the night.

            At ten o’clock, I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door. I stopped on the way to change clothes in a bus station restroom and made it to the alley with twenty minutes to spare. I didn’t see Jonathan when I arrived, but I also didn’t see signs of some kind of struggle. And surely Uhjin would’ve let me know if anything had happened?

            I found a spot of my own in the shadows to sit and wait and drink the coffee I’d brought— instant, almost black with just a hint of cinnamon, as strong as I can make it. I’d told Welsh eleven, but who knew if he’d show up then? Maybe he’d come early or late, just to try to throw me off guard.

            Sure enough, at six past eleven, a grey Jaguar rolled into the motel lot and parked at the near edge. Welsh climbed out of the passenger seat, crossed the strip of grass separating the lot and the alley, and glanced around, his gaze lingering a moment longer on the spot where I sat.

            I stood, leaving my thermos behind, and stepped out into the light of a streetlamp. I had to resist the urge to adjust my mask, even though I’d just checked it. I needed to appear in control. “Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Welsh.” I’d aimed for cool, calm formality, something that would let him know he wasn’t in charge of this meeting, but make him think he could be.

            Welsh looked me up and down, his eyebrow raised slightly. “I wasn’t aware that supers blackmailed people.”

            “This isn’t a blackmail attempt. This is an offer of mercy.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I know what you’ve done. You know I know it. And so I’m making an offer: confess your crimes. Turn yourself in. Maybe you’ll get a lighter sentence. Otherwise, I’ll drag you to the police myself and make sure you get the punishment you deserve.”

            “Will you?” Welsh laughed. “I don’t think so. If you had enough evidence to take me to court, we wouldn’t be standing here now. And, in the case that you do and you’re simply an idiot . . .” He gestured. Three men climbed out of the Jaguar; another three appeared from the shadows at the far end of the alley. “I came prepared.”

            I unhooked my bow from my violin strap and raised my instrument to my chin. “So you intend to fight.”

            “No, I intend to make sure you and your friend don’t leave this place alive. And if I can use your power to strengthen myself, even better.” Welsh pointed to the side, around the back of the stores next to the motel. “There’s someone in there. Get him.”

            Two men started towards the spot. No! How does he . . . No time to wonder. I set my bow to the strings, and the air song spilled from my violin to draw the air from the men’s lungs. But before I’d finished three notes, the other four men drew pistols; took aim. I changed the intent of my song just in time, and the bullets smacked into a wall of brick-solid air.

            Shouts drew my attention back to the first two men— and Jonathan. I glanced back; the two men dragged him, struggling, from the shadows. He got in a lucky kick and one man doubled over, but the other took the opportunity to knock his head into the wall. I winced, but there wasn’t much I could do— not until I dealt with those pistols.

            As one man pulled Jonathan over to Welsh, I began humming the air song I was using for the barrier. At the same time, I slowly transitioned the melody on my violin to a different tune— sharper, more solid. I’d tried this once before, but then I hadn’t had the right instrument. Now, with my violin, I had a chance.

            Welsh glanced down scornfully at Jonathan. “Poor backup you’ve brought, super. He can’t even— wait.” He scowled. “I know you. You’re that reporter that kept nosing around my offices.”

            Jonathan smiled crookedly. “Guilty as charged. Er, I’d rather you not kill me, though. My family’s expecting me to call tomorrow. My mother’s birthday and all.”

            That’s right. Keep him busy. I continued to play and hum, focusing on the pistols Welsh’s men carried. Keep them all occupied a little longer. 

            “I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that. You made your choice already. But, I wonder . . .” He looked to the man whom Jonathan had hit. “There will be a camera somewhere near where you found him. Find it.”

            Done. I abruptly stopped both my playing and humming and lunged towards the man. “Stop! You can’t—”

            All four of the men with pistols shot at once. I dropped to the ground. And four pistol barrels, sealed shut by my song, blew apart.

            Shards of metal and pieces of pistol exploded into the air. One man fell back clutching his eye; another stumbled forward, a half-dozen pieces of metal in his leg. A third dropped his gun, at least one wrist clearly broken from the force of the explosion. Not one of them, apparently, had noticed what I’d done to their weapons.

            The man sent for the camera had escaped damage; he ducked out of Jonathan’s hiding spot with the fancy DSLR in his hands. “Found it.”

            “Get the card, leave the camera,” Welsh ordered, apparently unfazed by the fact that I’d just taken half his men out of commission. “Then get the girl.”

            “Yes, sir.” The man popped the memory card out expertly, then, with a regretful look, set the camera down. “Don’t suppose I could keep the camera? I could use a backup.”

            “Do what you want.” Welsh turned to the man holding Jonathan. “Kill him.”

            The man nodded. He pulled out a pistol and checked it, only to find that it, too, had been sealed shut by my song. With a frustrated growl, he shoved it back into its holster and drew a switchblade instead. Jonathan struggled in the man’s grasp. “C— Songbird?”

            Darn it darn it darn it please God no. I pushed myself up and started singing air, all too aware that it probably wouldn’t take effect in time. Then, three things happened at the same time. The man slashed his blade at Jonathan’s throat. Jonathan managed to jerk slightly to the right. And, at the last possible second, the knife turned to liquid and dripped to the street.

            Starlight had officially arrived.

Saturday, June 30, 2018

Steel and Shocks: An IDIA-TSS Crossover Fanfic

Allo, all! June Doings! and my mid-year book roundup should be posted sometime in the next week, but before then, have a fanfic. This was written for C.B. Cook's fanfiction/fanart contest, based on my thought that obviously the two superhero universes she's worked on— IDIA and the Teenage Superhero Society— had to come together eventually. It's not the best piece I've ever worked on, but I had fun with it. Also, cookies for anyone who realizes what the villains are a reference to. (For the record: they're well aware of who they're referencing, and are doing it 100% on purpose, mostly because they get as much of a kick out of it as I do.)

Steel and Shocks: An IDIA-TSS Crossover Fanfic

I’m sitting on the back deck, savoring the last of a strawberry popsicle, when Lannis’s voice bursts into my head. Art park downtown! At the new statue! Emergency! Now! Masks on!

I pulled the popsicle stick from my mouth. What? What’s happened? No answer; Lannis has pulled out already. I jump up and dash back into the kitchen. “Mom, Lannis called! Gotta go!”

Mom looks up from her cookbook. “TSS business?”

“Yeah. I’ll be careful, don’t worry. Bye!” I give her a quick hug and then head upstairs. I need my costume, and then . . . Darn it, how far is the art park? I can’t take the car . . .

I throw on my costume— leggings, tunic, boots, cape, mask, taser in a belt pouch— finishing moments before Saxon— no, sorry, Watcher; she’s masked up— appears in my room. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” I grab her hand. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No clue. All I know is that there’s a lot of people screaming.” She shrugs, and the world blurs and vanishes. Seconds later, it reforms, and we stand with our backs to a tall hedge in the Foundry City Art Park. The hedges encircle a pebbled open area with a statue at the center, the latest in a series that’s been installed around the city. This one is a series of stacked silvery bubbles, pretty cool-looking.

Significantly less cool-looking are the crowds running, screaming, away from the statue, not to mention the three people that they’re running from. One of them, the one standing on top of the statue, is literally on fire all over, and he— no, wait, she— is shooting fireballs at the running people. Another, a young teen boy with hair dyed dark blue, is floating in midair, creating an ever-widening cyclone of stiff winds around the statue. The third, a broad-shouldered woman whose skin looks like it’s made out of scale-textured metal, isn’t doing anything yet— but somehow, she’s still the most intimidating of the three. I gulp. Oh, great. Legit Big Bads.

With all the chaos, I don’t realize for a few moments that not everyone here is running for their lives. Nightfire’s circling the statue, redirecting the fire-girl’s attacks back at the wind-manipulator and the metal woman. One woman, I’d guess she’s about Starlight or Lannis’s age, actually has a pistol out and is shooting round after round at the supervillains. She’s not hitting anything, as far as I can tell, but I can tell where some of her bullets are going, and they’re so far off-target that one of the supervillains must be interfering. And there are another two girls, my age, helping to evacuate the civilians. Both of the girls are wearing masks along with their street clothes, one red and feathery, the other shimmery and blue. They don’t look like any supers I know, but I guess that doesn’t mean much.

I finally spy Lannis— Clarity, rather— further along the hedge and run towards her with Watcher close behind. “Clarity! What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Clarity’s face is screwed up in concentration. “Nightfire and I were here for the dedication ceremony, for the statue you know, and all of a sudden, these three just showed up and attacked. I’m still working on getting into their heads to find out why.”

“Oh.” I wonder if I should do something, but no one appears to be hurt, and I don’t have any offensive powers. “Is Starlight coming?”

“She’s on her way.” Clarity pauses. “Oh. More people are here.”

She points, and I look. Sure enough, two new guys just appeared near the statue. One looks almost as intimidating as the metal woman: as big as she is, wearing a leather jacket, a grey mask, and a look that says you’d better not mess with him. The other guy is about my age, with fudge-brown hair and a glossy black mask.

Leather jacket guy doesn’t hesitate. He starts towards the metal woman, who grins— and keeps grinning even when he puts out a hand and sends her flying back into the statue. She’s not injured; she just picks herself up and launches herself at him.

Clarity’s not talking, and I still can’t do anything to help with the fight— I really need to buy a good Glock, or learn martial arts, or something— so I join the other two girls my age in evacuating the remaining civilians. There aren’t many of them, but a few have been hit by fireballs that Nightfire couldn’t redirect. I heal those and then return my attention to the fight.

With no more civilians to target, the fire-girl is focusing all her attacks on us supers, and Nightfire’s deflecting them all back at her and her team. Starlight’s arrived— finally— and she and leather jacket guy have teamed up against the metal woman, now without her metal skin. I can’t see Watcher or the younger guy, but bursts of light keep exploding around the wind-manipulator. The woman in the leather jacket has abandoned the fight in favor of discussion with Clarity, so I head towards the two of them, hoping for new instructions. Across the way, I see the other two girls doing the same.

We’ve only gone a few steps when leather jacket guy manages to throw the metal woman at the statue again. This time, however, she flies up before she hits it and flips over the top. I hear her hit the ground on the other side, but she doesn’t reappear. Instead, the statue shakes and then a single piercing note stabs my eardrums. I shriek and cover my ears. The fire girl throws her head back and laughs, pumping her fist— only to be hit by a fireball from Nightfire, a burst of metal projectiles from leather jacket guy, and an explosion of light from who-knows-where all at once.

She topples off the statue, hits the ground, and lies still.

“Dragonsbane! No!” The wind-manipulator whirls in mid-air, ignoring the attacks now turned on him, and shoots a swirl of blue-glowing wind at the fire-girl. It hits and surrounds her with the same blue light. “Healing breath of the heavens, restore my friend!”

Ok, that’s super weird. But weird or not, it works. Dragonsbane gasps, opens her eyes, and then pushes herself back to her feet to continue her attacks. I dash the rest of the way to Clarity. “Did you find out anything?”

She shakes her head. “Not much. Their minds are partially shielded; I can’t figure out how. I know they’re part of a larger group, though.” Clarity gestures at the woman in the leather jacket. “This is Data; she knows more.”

Data nods. “They call themselves the Izado. Their group just started making trouble earlier this year; they got on our radar because the metal-skin one, the one Anvil and your Starlight are fighting, used to work for FOE. Their goal seems to be to eliminate all supers who won’t join them. Unfortunately, that includes everyone here in Foundry City.”

A yell pulls our attention back to the fight. Dragonsbane just hit leather jacket guy— Anvil, I guess?— with a wave of flame. He staggers back, obviously in pain. The metal woman lunges forward inhumanly fast, grey rippling over her skin. She punches him, one-two, a normal fist to the jaw and a metal one to the burned area. Then she turns and launches herself at Starlight.

Starlight starts to dodge, but fast as she is, the metal woman is just barely faster and tackles her with a steel shoulder to Starlight’s ribs. Starlight hits the ground hard with the woman on top of her. The wind-manipulator, still in the sky, whoops. “Get ‘em, Steelscales!”

Dragonsbane aims another ball of flame at Anvil, but Nightfire deflects it so it shoots towards Steelscales instead. She catches it with a metal fist, which starts to glow red-hot. Then, with a grin, she punches down at Starlight. Starlight just barely twists aside, and the woman’s fist grinds into the pebbly ground.

“We have to do something!” I can’t believe that Starlight seems to be losing. I mean, yeah, I’ve discovered since meeting her that she’s more human, more fallible than she seems. But she should be doing better than this. Shouldn’t she? Then again, if she’s already taken several hits . . . Please, God, let her be all right.

The flames around Dragonsbane die down, revealing a wild grin and spiky hair with pink-dyed tips. “Steelscales! Wingwinds! We’re done here; let’s go!”

Steelscales scowls. “Don’t tell me what to do.” But she vaults off Starlight anyway and runs for the exit. Dragonsbane dashes towards another. Wingwinds starts to fly in a third direction, but before he can get far, I hear a familiar yell from the sky. Wingwinds drops abruptly like something’s fallen on top of him.

Watcher appears on top of Wingwinds, clinging to his shoulders. “Hey!” she yells at Anvil. “He’s got metal on him. Pull on it; help me out here!”

He groans but reaches out a hand anyway. Wingwinds drops faster than before, though he struggles and tries to shake Watcher off. Finally, he hits the ground with a smack and a moan. “Owwwwww . . .”

Watcher sits up on top of him. “Hey, Clarity, I got one of their guys. You want to interrogate him?”

“I will, thank you.” Data steps forward. “I’m Data from the International Defense and Intelligence Agency. IDIA for short. We’ve been tracking the Izado for several months now, and when we heard they were planning to strike in Foundry City, we came to investigate. We didn’t expect an outright attack just yet or we would’ve brought more combat-oriented members.” She glances at me. “You’re Remedy, correct? Their healer?”

“Yes.” It takes me a minute to get the hint. “Oh. Yeah. I’ll go do that.” Starlight’s sitting up, one arm wrapped around her ribs, but she still looks like she’s in pain, and Anvil’s laying there like he doesn’t really want to move. I don’t exactly blame him.

I head to Starlight first and crouch beside her— by now, she’s less intimidating than Anvil. “What do I fix?”

“Broken rib. At least one.” She moves her arm as I place my hands on the injured area. “Advice for you. Avoid fighting metal people hand to hand. It’s unpleasant.”

“I don’t really plan on fighting anyone hand-to-hand, but I’ll remember that.” I finish and stand up. “Ok. You’re good. You’re sure nothing else needs healing?”

“No. Save your power.” Starlight stands, wincing despite her words. “Go help Anvil. I’m going to have a talk with these newcomers.”

“Right. Ok.” I glance after her as she goes. She’s obviously still sore; if she was any other member of the team, any other person in general, I’d find an excuse to hug her and sneakily heal the rest of her injuries. But Starlight doesn’t do hugs, especially not surprise hugs— I know from experience— so I’ll just have to trust her.

I move on to Anvil and wince when I see the bright red burns all over his face and chest. His steel grey mask has escaped damage, somehow, and his leather jacket is only scorched, but his t-shirt is a tattered, blackened mess. I kneel next to him. “Hi. I’m a healer. I’m going to have to touch you to heal this, ok?”

Anvil nods. “Go on. Medic back at headquarters does the same thing.”

They have a healer too? I wonder if I could meet her, or him, whichever, but now’s not the time to ask. I gently place my fingertips on the burns and pull the power through me into the injuries. The burns disappear from the middle outward, not even a scar left behind. “Ok, face next.” Those heal faster since they’re smaller. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He shakes his head and stands, offering a hand to help me up. Good grief, he’s tall. “I’m Anvil, by the way.”

I take his hand and use the opportunity to send a little extra generalized healing power into him, just in case. “Data told me. Nice to meet you. I’m Remedy— sorry; I should’ve said that earlier.”

“Remedy, huh?” This is a new voice. I turn to find the shorter guy— who’s still taller than I am— standing nearby. He flashes a grin. “Want to join IDIA? We could use another healer?”

“Ummm . . . I, uh . . .” How are you supposed to respond to that?

Thankfully, Nightfire jogs over and comes to my rescue. “Remedy already has a team, sorry. We’re the Teenage Superhero Society. Who are you anyway?”

“I’m Blaze.” He gestures to the two girls I saw earlier, who I now realize are identical save for their masks. “These are Jazz and Pop. Jazz has the blue mask; Pop has the red one. You’ve already met Anvil.”

Before the conversation can go any further, a yell bursts out from the direction of our leaders and captive. We all turn just in time to see Data and Watcher fly backward into the hedge. Wingwinds rockets into the sky. “Who can hold the wind? No one, that’s who! Winds of the western sky, lend me your speed!” With that, he flies away so fast he leaves a breeze in his wake.

I dash towards the group left behind. “Is everyone ok?”

Watcher picks herself up and dusts off her jacket. “I’m fine.”

“We both are, but not for long.” Data stands and heads towards the statue. “I was able to read him and learn the Izado’s plans. This statue and four others around the city hold superpower-neutralizing devices. In an hour and a half, all five will release a blast that will turn every super in the city into ordinary humans. This attack was simply a cover so they could activate this particular statue, the control for all the others.”

I gasp. So do several others. Nightfire doesn’t. “So what? We just destroy the statues. Problem solved.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Data reaches the statue and starts inspecting it. “We can and should eliminate the other four. However, destroying this one will cause the others to go off early. And even one is enough to severely weaken everyone’s powers.”

“So we evacuate everyone?” Pop suggests. “Or, all the supers, anyway?”

“How?” Clarity shakes her head. “We don’t have a way to contact all the known supers quickly unless Starlight has one that she’s not telling us about. And even if we did, there are supers who haven’t revealed themselves publically yet, and we have no way to warn them. Maybe I could broadcast a telepathic message to the whole city, but then everyone would panic.”
“Agreed. Evacuating everyone in time is impossible.” Data glances at Blaze. “Blaze, go get Volt. Wingwinds implied that there’s a computer element to the device; she’ll know how to help with that.”

“On it.” Blaze salutes and disappears. Apparently, he’s a teleporter like Watcher.

I raise my hand. “I don’t know about disabling anything, but I might be able to delay the blast. I can slow down time around this statue to half, maybe even quarter speed. Then we’d have twice or four times as long before the others go off.”

“Unless the others are on their own timers, in which case they could all go off while we’re still standing here.” Nightfire circles the statue a few times. “There’s got to be a transmitter in here, at least. I don’t know about a computer. Does this thing open up?”

Blaze reappears, along with a tall girl whose purple mask matches the dyed ends of her hair. “Here I am. What’s going on?”

Everyone tries to explain at once until Data yells for quiet and recaps the entire episode in a few short sentences. When she finishes, Volt nods determinedly. “Well then. This is doable. Data, did you get anything at all from Wingwinds about how this works?”

Data shakes her head. “Nothing. Apparently, Steelscales designed it.”

“Figures.” Volt sighs, and she and Nightfire go to work.

Data turns to the rest of us. “While they work, we need to destroy the other devices. Then we can mitigate the effects if we fail here. We’ll split into three groups: one here, two others each destroying two statues. Anvil, you’ll lead one team. Starlight, will you take the other?”

Starlight nods once, her face giving no clues as to how she feels about Data taking charge like this. Data goes on. “Jazz and Pop, one of you should join each team and stay in touch with one another. Clarity, I understand that you’re also a telepath. I’d appreciate if you stayed with me and kept tabs on both teams.”

“I can do that.” Clarity manages a smile— not that you can see it since her costume hides the bottom part of her face, but it shows around her eyes. “Anyway, someone has to keep an eye on Nightfire.”

Nightfire glances up from the statue to roll her eyes at Clarity. Both Clarity and Data ignore her. “Watcher, I believe you’re a teleporter, yes? You’ll join one team; Blaze will go with the other. That leaves Remedy.”

I know I’m not really useful in this situation. I don’t have offensive powers, I won’t be much help in destroying the statues, and I’m not a mindreader or a teleporter. Even so, I can’t help feeling like I’m a kid getting picked last for the dodgeball game again. “I guess I could just stay here and . . . um . . . stand guard or something?”
But Data shakes her head. “Go with one of the teams. The more people we have out there who know the city, the better. If another group needs your powers, someone can teleport you there.”

Anvil speaks before Starlight can. “I’ll take her, Jazz, and Blaze.” He looks at me. “I hope you have some idea where the other statues are.”

“They’re probably the other four in the series.” I glance at Starlight. “Right? I know where all of those are, more or less.”

“That seems logical, yes.” Starlight considers. “My team will take the one by the museum and the one on North Central.” She beckons to her team— Watcher and Pop. “Let’s go.”

“Right. See you all later.” Watcher grabs both other girls and they disappear.

Blaze grins. “Come on, can’t let them finish first. Remedy, where are we going?”

“Um.” I search my mental map. “There’s one near the corner of Franklin Avenue and Madison Street. Is that good enough?”

“Perfect. Grab on.” Blaze holds out his hands. I take one, Jazz grabs the other, and Anvil places a hand on Blaze’s shoulder. Lights and colors flash around us. The next moment, we're standing in an alleyway, looking out on Franklin Avenue.

I duck out and glance back and forth. “To the right, I think.”

Anvil steps out after me. “Lead the way.”

I do, hoping I remember correctly. Apparently, I do because a few minutes later, we find another silvery statue, this one shaped like a sphere with a lot of swirls growing out of it and twining together as they reach towards the sky. Anvil studies it a moment, then reaches out one hand. The statue trembles a moment, then implodes in on itself until it’s nothing but a lump of metal no larger than a bowling ball. The few people who had stopped to admire it look around in confusion, but they don’t seem to notice us.

Anvil tucks his hands back in his pockets. “Easy enough.”

“Great!” Jazz pauses. “Ok, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is that Volt and Nightfire got the first statue open and found the control panel for the device. The bad news is that the control panel is, for some reason, connected to the internet. And Data touched the control panel.”

Blaze groans. “Oh no. So she tried to download the internet again.”

“Basically. She’s out cold.” Another pause. Jazz scowls. “More bad news. Volt and Nightfire found a timer. We’ve only got fifteen minutes left.”

“What?” I exclaim, unable to hold it in. “But we were supposed to have an hour and a half.”

“Apparently Wingwinds lied.” Another pause. “On the upside, Pop’s team got their first statue too. Pop’s gushing over how Starlight apparently just turned the whole thing into gas. Now they’re heading to their next statue.”

“We’d better hurry too.” Blaze holds out his hands again. “Where to this time, Remedy?”

“Furnace Street. Near the bank.” I frown, taking Blaze’s hand. “I think. It might be Forge Street. I always get those two mixed up.”

“Guess we’ll find out.” Blaze does his thing, and we reappear in another alleyway, this one directly across from the bank.

I peer out at the street. “Oh, good, I was right. And the statue’s right there.” I point. This one is kind of a cross between a flower, a tree, and firework, still in silvery metal but with edges painted gold and purple. It’s a shame we have to destroy it. “Can you crush it from here?”

“Yes.” Anvil reaches out, but before he can do anything, something launches itself off the roof of the building beside us and lands on top of him. He goes down with an “Ooooffff.” Steelscales rolls off of him and comes up on her feet, a smirk of triumph on her face.

Anvil picks himself back up. “I didn’t think you’d be back.”

Steelscales lunges forward, fists flying. “Like I’d let you ruin all my hard work, idiot. I’m here to stop you.”

None of her blows connect. Instead, she skids back— Anvil must be pushing on her dozens of piercings and metal accessories. Then he pulls a handful of small metal pieces and shoots them at her like a hail of bullets. “Why bother? The device will go off in less than fifteen minutes. As soon as it does, you lose your powers just like the rest of us.”

Steelscales spreads her arms. As soon as the first pieces of metal hit her body, her skin ripples and turns to silvery metal. “Do I look like an idiot? When I devised the power neutralizer, I made sure I found a way to shield myself from its effects. How else was I going to test it without accidentally getting rid of my own powers? I’ll be fine, but—” She launches herself at Anvil again. “You? You’re going down, and so is every other super in Foundry City.”

Anvil doesn’t reply, just pushes his hand forward again. I guess he’s trying to throw her back like he did before, but instead, she rockets up, flips over his head, and tackles him from behind. “Just give up already. Tell you what, if you surrender, I’ll let your friend teleport you and the rest of your crew out of the city. You can run around playing Superman a little longer.”

“I am not— going— to lose— a fight— to a girl— made of— metal!” Anvil manages to roll himself and Steelscales over so he’s on top of her. He pulls her arm away from his throat, then pushes himself onto his knees.

Steelscales launches herself back up and grabs his neck again. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, I’m going to crush you.”

Anvil grunts and pushes himself to his feet. I bite my lip, watching. We need to do something, but what? It’s a miracle that Steelscales hasn’t taken out the three of us already.

I feel a touch on my arm and hear Jazz’s voice poking into my head. Blaze is keeping us invisible. He does light manipulation, not just teleportation.

Oh. That makes sense. Can we use that somehow? I know my powers still won’t do any good. My taser, though . . . if she’s made of metal or has metal skin or whatever, she’s probably vulnerable to electricity, right? And if I can sneak up on her while I’m invisible.

Oooh. Good idea. Jazz again. Hold on. She’s silent for a minute, then: Ok. Blaze, you hold onto Remedy and both of you sneak up behind Steelscales. Then, Remedy, you get her with the taser and grab her, and Blaze, you teleport all three of you back to Data and Volt.

Got it. I pull out my taser and make sure it’s ready for use. Blaze grabs my shoulder. We both break away from the wall and creep towards Anvil and Steelscales.

As we get closer, Steelscales glances back. “What was that?”

Oh no she heard us. I grab Blaze’s wrist with one hand and lunge forward, jamming the taser against Steelscales’ bare shoulder, and pull the trigger. Electricity arcs between the two prongs and all over Steelscales’ body. She jerks and spasms, unable to control her movements. Anvil pulls free and turns around.

I drop the taser and grab Steelscales’ shirt. “Blaze! Now!” Light swirls around us, almost blinding this time. Then we’re standing by the statue once more.

I let go of Steelscales. “Got her! How long do we have left?”

“Only a few minutes.” Clarity steps forward, peels off one glove, and carefully puts her fingers against Steelscales’ forehead. She winces, and her face twitches. Then she pulls back and announces, “Try 10-r-o-e for the password.”

“10-r-o-e. Ok.” Volt taps furiously on something half-hidden by this side of the statue. “I’m in! And now . . .” She presses a few more buttons. The statue lets out a high-pitched whine, followed by a few cracks and muffled explosions. Volt grins proudly. “I sent a deactivation signal to all the devices, then ran the self-destruct command on this one.”

“Well done.” Data, who’d been lying next to the statue, blinks and sits up. “Blaze, take Steelscales back to headquarters and put her in a cell, one with the power dampener turned on. Then find Trav and come pick up the rest of us.”

“Your wish is my command.” Blaze salutes at Data and grins at me. “Nice meeting you and your friends, Remedy. We should get together again sometime. Tell the others I said bye.”

“Nice to meet you too. You know where to find us.” I smile and wave as he disappears, taking Steelscales with him.

Data stands shakily and turns to Clarity. “Thank you to you and your team for your help. We couldn’t have pulled this off without you. And while I understand that you’re not interested in joining us, Blaze has the right idea. We should try to meet up again and discuss how we could potentially work together.” The corners of her mouth curve up like she’s holding in a laugh. “But next time, we’ll try to leave the supervillains at home.”
 

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Fight Song Chapter 19

Last time on Fight Song, Callie hit the streets again— this time masked, costumed, and with a new name: Songbird. This week, she finds what she's been looking for— and, unsurprisingly, trouble along with it. Once again, our guest character appears by permission of her creator. Also, many thanks to that creator for helping me sort out certain aspects of this scene. 

As always, comments, critiques, questions, and suggestions are welcome. I apologize for the fact that I haven't been responding to comments as much as I normally would. Blogger's stopped notifying me of new comments, and I'm still trying to figure out how to fix the issue. Thanks for your patience in the meantime.



Chapter 19: Song and Star

            That night found me on the streets again, mask in place and violin in hand. I plucked a quiet song as I walked, forcing just enough light to go around me to hopefully render me almost invisible. In the shifting shadows of the street, it seemed to mostly work. A few people peered uncertainly in my direction, but the majority didn’t notice me at all. The pair of violent drunks who I chased away from a scared-looking young woman certainly didn’t, nor did the would-be car thieves whose tools became suddenly hot in response to my song— they remained unaware until I changed my tune and suddenly appeared, too close for comfort and already attacking.

            Yet midnight came and went, and my chances of finding Starlight seemed slimmer and slimmer. Finally, weariness overpowered my hopes, and I turned towards home, still picking out my illusion melody. After playing it for hours on end, I was starting to wonder if its advantages were really worth the tedium.

            Then, just as I was approaching the overpass near the park, a scream ripped through the night from under the bridge. I immediately dashed down the slope towards the sound. What’s going on? My sneakers skidded on the slope of grass and rocks, but I caught my balance just in time and made the rest of the descent more carefully.

            At the bottom, I found the source of the scream: a girl surrounded by a group of four men. One had her pinned against an overpass pillar, one hand on her chest and the other at her waist, while the others cheered him on. I scowled. Beasts. Then I raised my violin, let my illusion disappear, and played a staccato burst of notes.

            Light blazed in front of the eyes of the four men, blinding them. The man pinning the girl stumbled back, and the girl slumped to the ground and tried to make herself small. I took two steps towards them and switched to another melody, softening the concrete beneath their feet.

            But they recovered faster than I expected and rushed at me before their feet could sink. I backed away, changing tunes mid note. Flames leapt to life on two men’s jackets, singing their hair and ears. Both yelled and dropped to the ground to try to put out the flames. The third man was nearly on me before I could stop him— but my bow in his eye sent him stumbling back, and a few hummed notes of air brought him to the ground.

            I turned to face the fourth man and had to duck under a punch. I backed away two steps and set my violin bow to the strings again, softening the concrete beneath his feet and beneath the two who’d just managed to extinguish their flaming jackets. The two on the ground sank and were trapped again before they could react. But the fourth man nimbly leapt onto the asphalt and pulled a shining knife. “I heard about your trick, birdie. You won’t get me that way.”

            I didn’t bother to respond, instead humming heat into his weapon. He grinned and held up his gloved hand. “Heard about that one too. Nice try.” Then he lunged for me, swiping up with the red-glowing blade.

            Darn it darn it darn it— I dodged away again and nearly tripped over the two men stuck in the concrete. Darn it! Three notes produced another burst of light before the man’s eyes, not as strong as the last but enough that I could put more distance between him and me. Then I switched my song again, returning to the melody of fire.

            Flames licked along his jacket, but he didn’t drop, just shrugged it off. It fell to the ground and lay there, slowly burning. “You got lucky so far, birdie. But how about you stop poking your nose where you aren’t wanted before you get hurt?”

            “How about no?” I switched songs again, this time to air. “How about you surrender?”

            The man’s eyes widened as he fought to draw breath. He didn’t answer, just lunged at me, slashing wildly with his knife. My song screeched into discord as I jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blade. Nopenopenope— I recovered, but he’d gotten a good breath and came at me again.

            Gotta deal with the knife first. A few notes of light created another brilliant flash to blind him and give me a chance to put distance between us again. I shifted to the sharply ordered song of steel, combined with the rhythm of time, to blunt and wear down the knife blade until it was too dull to cut anything but the softest butter.

            By the time I finished, my opponent had recovered. He circled to the side, more wary now than before. “What makes you think you’re so special, birdie? So much better than the rest of us, that you get to meddle in our business? Do your fancy powers give you the right to tell us what to do?”

            “No. But you’re hurting someone, and I’m not about to stand around and let you.” I played another rapid string of notes— air again, pulled faster than before. At the same time, I hummed the song for asphalt, softening it just enough to put him off-balance.

            He took two steps towards me, gasping, then stumbled and fell headlong, out cold. I sighed in relief and lowered my violin. Then a click from behind me threw all my senses back into high alert. I whirled around to see the man whose eye I’d gotten with my bow. He was back on his feet now, a gun in his hands and aimed towards me. Oh no—

            He pulled the trigger before I could move, but in almost the same moment, I heard the melody of his gun and bullets shift sharply. Both vanished, their only trace an expanding cloud of slightly darker than normal vapor. The man’s eyes widened, and he tried to run, only to hit a wall of solid air.

            I looked over my shoulder, and there she was. Starlight, cape and all, stood on the hillside above me. She nodded cordially to me. “Songbird.”

            I’d wonder how she knows my name, but, well, this is Starlight. I nodded back. “Starlight. Thanks. He caught me off guard.”

            “You’re welcome.” Starlight flicked her fingers. One pair of handcuffs appeared around the man’s wrists; another, slightly larger, connected his ankle to the arm of one of the men trapped in concrete. “You seemed to be handling the situation well.”

            “Definitely better than the last time you ran into me trying to fight off four men, yes.” Did she know that Songbird and Ava are the same person? She must. But I didn’t want to run the risk that she’d missed that. “Did you call the police yet?”

            “I did.” Starlight’s gaze flicked over my beaten opponents. “What were these ones doing?”

            “Tormenting some girl. She’s . . .” I glanced around. No sign of the girl. “Run off, I guess. Smart of her.” I looked back up at Starlight. “Can I talk to you quick?”

            Starlight’s eyebrows rose slightly behind her mask, but she beckoned for me to join her. I started up the hillside, but once I reached her, she turned and headed for the top. Once we were up by the bridge, she faced me once again. “Yes?”

            “I . . .” I hesitated, suddenly awkward. “I just, well . . .” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the USB drive. “I need your help again. With something else. It shouldn’t be much trouble for you this time, though. You already know about Welsh— the man I’m trying to stop. I’m going to confront him— soon. And, well, this is all the information about what he’s done and what I’ve found out and what I’m planning to do, and I was hoping you’d take it and keep it safe?” I offered her the USB in an open palm. “Just in case I fail? Please?”

            Starlight took the USB drive and tucked it into a belt pouch. “I’ll take it back to my base. Thank you for trusting me with it.” She paused, gave me an inscrutable look. “Do you need help in this confrontation of yours?”

            “I—” I blinked. “Are you . . . offering?”

            “I am. Assuming you haven’t told this person that you’re coming alone?” Starlight’s tone suggested that doing so would be a completely idiotic idea. I tend to agree. “I’m certain that he won’t.”

            I shook my head hastily. “No, I didn’t.” And I didn’t tell him to either— that actually was stupid. But Starlight seems to think that it wouldn’t really matter, and she’s probably right. And she has a point. Jonathan and Uhjin both have more or less vital roles to play, but they won’t be much use in a fight— not unless one of them is secretly a black belt or an expert marksman or something like that. “If you’re really willing, I’d love backup. Thank you. But Welsh is mine.”

            Naturally.” Starlight rested her hand on the pouch where she put my USB drive. “Are the time and place noted somewhere on here?”

            “Yes. But I can just tell you too, save you the trouble of searching— there’s a lot on there. I told him to meet me near the Carren Road Motel 6 at eleven o’clock Monday night.” I fiddled with my bow, turning it over and over in my hands. “You’re sure you’re willing to help?”

            “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” Starlight’s gaze drifted towards the street below. “The police seem to be arriving to pick up your criminals.”

            I glanced down. A black car was just turning onto the street beneath the overpass. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I should go talk to them. Thanks again— really, thanks.”

            “You’re welcome.” Starlight nodded once more. “I’ll see you on Monday. Good luck.”

            “Thanks.” I was starting to feel like a broken record, but what else could I say? With a nod that I hoped looked mature and professional, I turned and headed back down the slope. That’s it. Everything’s ready. Better than ready; I had Starlight on my team! Now all I had to do was confront Welsh . . . and survive.

Bonus fun thing: anyone want to know for sure what Songbird looks like? Wonder no more!

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Fight Song Chapter 18

Hey'a, everyone! Ready for another chapter of Fight Song? Last week, Callie, Jonathan, and Uhjin made plans to finally confront Welsh. This week, they continue working on those plans and Callie hits the streets again— but this time, she's got a mask. As always, comments, questions, critiques, and suggestions are welcome! Thanks for reading!



Chapter 18: Songbird

The next week was a rush of activity. I spent several evenings scouting the city for a location where I could tell Welsh to meet me, somewhere public, but not too public, where Uhjin and Jonathan could have relatively safe hiding spots. Eventually, I settled on a small side street between one of the city’s sketchier motels and a line of stores and businesses, half of which had boards over the windows. It seemed as good as anywhere— better than most, since the motel advertised free WiFi.

That piece of my plan now in place, I loaded several CDs and one USB drive with copies of the information Jonathan and I had collected— testimonies, records, camera feeds, everything— along with a letter I’d typed up myself, explaining my plan. I handed off one CD to Uhjin, instructing her to make her own copies and give them to whoever she chose. Another I sent to my grandfather back home with a handwritten copy of the letter— he’d like that, I knew— and instructions for what to do with the CD if anything happened to me. I included other letters with that one too, notes to the rest of my family. Hopefully, they’d never see those letters, but only God knew for sure.

I dropped off the third CD in my pastor’s office Tuesday evening after work, along with a request for prayer and instructions not to look at the CD unless something happened to me in the next two weeks. I spent the next two days half-expecting an email from him up asking if I was all right, what was going on, all that, but nothing appeared. Either he’d lost my message— not exactly unheard of— or he trusted that I knew what I was doing. Who knew which.

Yet even with information in the hands of two people who I trusted to act as best they could, along with whoever Uhjin and Jonathan passed their copies onto, I wasn’t satisfied. I needed others: people who wouldn’t be immediately connected with me, and people who’d be better positioned to act if necessary.

So, Wednesday, at the end of lunch break at the craft store, I pulled Rebecca aside— of all my coworkers at either business, she was the one I trusted most. Granted, there wouldn’t be much she could do herself with the information, but no one, Welsh included, would expect her to have it. Why would they? And maybe, just maybe, she’d be clever enough to figure out where to take what I gave her if worst came to worst.

Of course, I didn’t say any of that, just asked: “Can you keep this for me?” and handed her the stiff cardboard envelope containing the CD. “Just for a couple weeks? And don’t open it unless something happens to me? I can’t really tell you why right now, but there’s a note in there that will explain it all.”

Rebecca took the CD with one hand, but grasped my arm with the other, searching my face with her big green eyes. “Yes, but— are you ok, Callie? Is something wrong? Are you in trouble of some kind?”

“I’m fine. Not in any trouble. Don’t worry. It’s just . . .” I searched for the words to make sense of what was going on without giving everything away. “I have something that I need to do, and I’m concerned that things will go wrong. And if they do, someone needs to know what happened to me. Ok?”

“Ok.” To my surprise, Rebecca wrapped me up in a hug, squeezing me tight as if she were my sister. “If you ever need help, any help at all, you can tell me, ok? I know that you like to keep things to yourself and that you have other friends than just me, but if I can do anything, just let me know. Really. And, whatever you’re doing, be careful, please? I’d miss you if you were gone.”

I tentatively returned the hug with a brief squeeze back. “I’ll be careful.” Well, sort of. I had a plan; that counted as being careful, right? “And thank you. But for now, the best help you can give me is to keep that CD safe.”

“I will.” Rebecca didn’t let go until after I did. “And I’ll pray for you, if that’s ok?”
“That’d be nice. Really nice.” I took a step back. “Well— thanks. Really, thank you. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. Don’t forget, if you need anything, just ask.” Holding the CD tight, Rebecca headed towards the staff lockers, probably to put it away.

I waved and set off back to work. Three copies down. Just one left. But that last would be the hardest one of all— and there was one thing I had left to do before I could deliver it.

When I wasn’t at work or sorting out plans with Jonathan over phone and text or handing important information to people for safekeeping or trying to practice the anti­–Death Song as best I could without the actual Death Song to compare it to, I scoured one thrift shop after another in search of— well, I wasn’t really sure what. All I knew was that Starlight had been right and that I’d made my choice. But even I knew: it would take more than a mask to keep my identity safe.

Eventually, after searching what seemed like every thrift shop and clearance rack in the city, raiding both my and Uhjin’s closets, and borrowing a sewing machine off a friend at the craft shop, I managed to pull something together. I picked dark, fitted jeans as a base, paired with black high-top sneakers— I’d considered other options, but I needed something practical, durable, and easily replaceable if I was going to do this long term. Of course, the red-violet top I paired them with, long-sleeved and vaguely Asian-looking, didn’t quite fit that bill, but it was comfortable and added a little excitement to the outfit. Over the top, I wore a sort of short jacket-cape thing that I’d made from a longer jacket. It wasn’t as dramatic as a full cape like Starlight’s, but it had a hood and, trimmed with fabric the same red-violet as my shirt, it looked quite nice. Anyway, unlike Starlight, I couldn’t turn a cape immaterial if it got caught on something.

I finished up the outfit with thin fingerless gloves that I dyed blue using Kool-Aid and, of course, a mask covered in the fabric I’d used for trim. Looking at myself in the mirror with the whole ensemble on, I couldn’t say that I looked a whole lot like the supers I’d seen on TV. But I didn’t exactly look like me either, and that was all that mattered. Now all I had to do was test it.

Hitting the streets in search of trouble again the night after I handed off Rebecca’s CD felt oddly good. It wasn’t the yes, this is what I’m meant to do and everything makes sense here type of good that I felt when I was onstage with my violin, but more of a reckless satisfaction, as if, after hesitating to act for so long, my soul exalted at finally having made a decision, whether or not it was the right one. As I walked down the darkened streets, violin bouncing at my side, I had to resist the urge to sing every song I heard just to announce to the world that I’d made my decision and here I was.

Thankfully, I ran into trouble— not literally— before the desire grew too strong. The pair of muggers who I spotted in an alleyway didn’t even realize I was behind them until it was too late and my song pulled the air from their lungs. They both spun around, allowing the man they were attacking to pull away.

As soon as they were facing me, I switched songs. The pair seemed to regain their courage as soon as they could breathe again, and they showed it by spitting a curse and a threat my way as they started towards me. But their next steps put their feet in three inches of suddenly-soft asphalt. I grinned, shifting the song again, and the asphalt hardened around their feet, leaving them stuck in place.
They cursed at me, but I ignored them, instead calling to their victim: “You all right?”

“Yeah.” He picked up his cell phone and wallet from the ground where the muggers had dropped them. “Who are you?”

I hesitated a moment. A name was the one thing I hadn’t settled on. But he was waiting for an answer, and I had to say something. “Songbird. I’m Songbird.” Before he could ask more, I added, “I suggest you call the police and let them know these two are here, then head home. Have a nice evening, sir.” With that, I hurried away, wishing I had some way to make my departures a little more subtle. Maybe if I could figure out some kind of illusion . . .

I continued through the streets more calmly, having expended some of my excited energy. But save for the mugging I’d already run into, the night seemed unusually quiet. It was as if every rogue and reprobate except for those two had unanimously decided to take the evening off. Finally, I gave up and headed home— but only for the night. The next evening and the evening after, I set out once again. But those nights, trouble wasn’t the only thing I was looking for.

No. I needed Starlight.

For two nights, I searched, roaming the streets for hours after dark. Neither night was as quiet as that first, though there were still hours with no excitement at all. But though I found trouble enough, there was no sign of Starlight. I hoped that she’d hear of me somehow; that she’d learn that another super, masked and costumed, had appeared in her territory and that she would come investigate. But she didn’t appear.

On the third day, I couldn’t wait any longer. So, on my way home from work, I detoured by the library and commandeered a computer that didn’t require a library card. Setting up a fake email account only took a couple minutes, but that just left me more time to type and erase and type again and then stare at the blinking cursor as I tried to think of the right words. How did one challenge a supervillain–serial killer without sounding like one was trying to blackmail him anyway?

Finally, after multiple false starts, I had something that seemed safe enough. Still, I paused before hitting Send and reread the message.

Mr. Welsh,
Though you may believe otherwise, your activities have not gone unnoticed. You have killed and killed again and thought that you could escape justice, but you cannot. Proof has been gathered against you; one small piece of it is attached to this message. All of this will be released to the authorities unless you meet me personally in the street beside the Motel 6 on Carren Lane at 11:00 Monday night. 

Satisfied with the text, I double-checked that the grainy still—inexpertly cut from one of the security videos and transferred from the USB drive I still carried— was attached. Yes, there it was. And the email address was correct too; Jonathan had found it and said that it was Welsh’s personal account. How Jonathan knew that, I had no clue, but I hoped he was right.

I hit Send and watched the message disappear. That’s that. No turning back now, even if I wanted to. Then again, I think I hit the point of no return a long time ago.