My head was still swirling around, my waking brain not quite ready to split the difference between my sleep and the surprise awakening of Roxy bursting through my door unannounced. Danger had loomed, and she required my assistance - but the sensors hadn’t gone off. My eyes darted to my drum mag.
[What is it?]
“They’re going to be here in an hour and I am fucking up the cooking.” She grimaced, her face a shadowed painting of pure panic. “I am freaking out.”
I stood for a moment, briefly confused - and considered whether hitting her with an empty V-Force blast would even do anything to her. Couldn’t even relax from my ready pose just in case this was some manner of ruse. It… had to be.
[You… came to the wrong house for culinary advice.]
She growled and stepped out of my doorway and into the sunshine, hand up to her face.
My re-breather rattled out a sigh. Seemed it had started already. Finally able to allow my body some movement, I straightened up and lowered my gun-arm. Quickly grabbed a fresh cannister from my workbench before I followed her out.
“I’m sorry, Dubs.” She pulled a face before putting her hands on her hips. “Hospitality is kind of a big deal in my family. Even if I’m not a fan of our guests, I still don’t want to mess it up.”
Ignoring the fact that she referred to them as ‘our’ guests, I could understand her angle. She’d proven her disposition since the day she had landed here, so the importance of this event was clear.
Against better judgement, I put my hand on her shoulder.
[You are a better host than they deserve, Roxy. I have full faith in you.]
She pulled a face and tried to grab hold of a reply that I assumed was either going to be disgust or something sarcastically thankful for my overdone attempt at sympathy.
“Thanks… that’s actually really sweet coming from-”
[But if you wake me up in such a manner again with such a weak excuse, I will find out how much punishment you can take.]
Probably resist everything I had aside from the stakes, assuming she would stand around long enough for me to load a magazine, anyway. I was sure to get a good sleep after she mashed my brains through the back of my skull for the effort.
Her mouth opened and closed, while her eyes narrowed as I moved my hand from her. “I’ve got too much going on to try to process that right now. Oh, that reminds me though…”
She popped something into her hand from the side of her belt and pressed it against my chest. “Prick! Oh.” She pulled another face. “You wouldn’t get that reference. It’s what we used to say when we put a badge on someone. Now that I say that out loud, it just seems like a made up excuse.”
Her hand withdrew, and I saw that there was a round ceramic disc now on the fold of my fabric.
“Maybe cover it if you can.” Roxy crossed her arms. “There was no point asking you to bathe, so this is the next best thing. Neutralizes your stank aura of death, but the poor thing will only last two hours tops. That way, you can clear the room if this bullshit drags on for too long.”
[Glad to be of service.]
“I’m being a shit again, sorry. After you successfully reassured me, and then either promised me violence… or a good time.” Her head tilted to the side.
I looked out to the wastes, the gleaming pile of motorbike wreckage catching the morning sunlight. Not the most subtle of graveyards - the supers might catch who they used to belong to if they knew their gangs well enough. The intact bike was even more overt.
[Often violence is too much of a good time.]
My eyebrow raised as I looked back at her. She seemed confused, but I didn’t think I had been speaking in riddles. Maybe my brain was still getting in proper order as much as hers was too flustered with the need to prepare for the party. I needed a new cannister.
Roxy shook the thoughts from her head. “Well, I’m going to go back to fucking up the kitchen. At least I don’t have to cater for you, huh? Ah, I need to shut my mouth.” She turned and deflated. “Come on over whenever you’re ready, Dubs.”
I watched her leap away, expertly landing by her front door to rush to her cooking attempts. When I was ready? There was still part of me screaming at the prospect of this actually happening. Still dreaming? No. I looked down at my arm. Most of the time when I dreamed, I had both my arms again - odd, since I had no active memories of a time when that was the case.
Shook my head and gave in to the inevitable. Popped out the empty canister and let it drop to the loose gravel. Crushed it beneath my boot as I clicked the new one in with a short hiss.
I had little else to do to get ready. Arranged the folds of my green swaddling so that my anti-stink device was obscured. Now I just looked like a wasteland-freak. Still, wasn’t here to make friends - just work with Clara and provide moral support for Roxy.
Although, that second point hadn’t crossed my mind until this morning. I narrowed my eyes, moving them between her house and mine. Even as we grew more cordial, I hadn’t thought I’d be someone she’d turn to for reassurance. Wasn’t even able to lend a hand with her preparations. Was there an ulterior motive? Perhaps. But then I might just be being over cautious again… I was rarely wrong, however.
Most likely, it was just to ensure I actually showed up. Waking up only an hour before the rest touched down might be rude to someone like her. I had been ready in less than five minutes, so seemed fine to me.
I sighed and started to walk over to her house, making sure to close my kill room door and turn the traps on. No ammunition whatsoever. Would definitely be a faux pas to turn up to a party fully loaded. Not that I’d be able to take on a group of supers.
As I stepped over the grass, wondering how it stayed alive out here, I noted that I had been quite aggressive with my vocalizer use lately. First in making a rude comment to the gang, and then in threatening Roxy. It was something that seemed both unlike me, yet also summed up who I was to a fault.
Less that I was naturally abrasive or threatening, but more that I was choosing to use words just as I would my different ammunition types. Any attempt to rein in my ego and remind myself that’s how talking worked for everyone was quickly swept away as I reached the open doorway of the super’s house.
“Make yourself at home. Just… no killing people. No kill rooms!”
I rolled my eyes and stepped into the shade of the interior, a turn to the left and there was a dining room set up. Plainly decorated, all things told. A white wooden table in the center with six chairs around it. Some wicker shelves and cupboards in an equally rustic tone. Framed painting across one wall - some manner of antiquated farming machine working its way through fields of grain.
Well lit from two window-laden doors that led out onto a back patio. My expression dulled at this… home. As if it could be blamed for being better at its role than my own shack. With my left hand I took one of the chairs from the table and moved it over to the wall to sit.
No chance I was rubbing elbows with the supers. I’d rather look like an out-of-place bouncer, or a punished child.
Roxy poked her head around the door, some flour on her face. “Ah, that’s cute. If that makes you comfortable, that's fine. No pressure, it means a lot that you’re even here… I know we aren’t close, but it’s nice to have a familiar face, you know?”
[I don’t have to do anything other than exist, correct?]
“Yeah.” She ducked back toward the kitchen, but her voice continued. “It would be swell if you got on well with them, but I'm not expecting miracles. I might have to see them often, but you won’t.”
[And about this… sidekick business?]
“Tell them… oh shit, you probably want to think up a cooler name and backstory as well.”
[Is 'Dubs' not disparaging enough to be a codename?]
“Just tell them we met because of your knowledge of the wastes… and we haven’t done the trial yet, so you’re provisional.”
I grunted. Wasn’t sure I liked any of that. If we were smarter, then we’d have come up with something more concrete. As far as I understood it - I was a nobody until I completed the trial. That said, I had clocked that my new STAR System included some manner of search… so it might clarify some of this.
Using my mind, I typed out the message to send. It was an odd process that had the familiarity of working my gun-arm, but some more complexity. Needed to get the synapse-memory in place to make it comfortable, I guessed.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Search: What is the process to become a League approved sidekick?
Result: Individual must complete a trial, where their intended hero takes them on a LoH designated mission. Should the individual survive and perform adequately, they may file to be officiated by the League of Heroes - which involves further tests and paperwork.
Disgusting. Well, the ability to grab exposition from the void was actually very useful - although I wondered if it used the same encrypted network as my messages with Boss. Unlikely, but besides the point. Being a sidekick sounded terrible, and I’d rather be bleeding out in a ditch from a failed hit than be beholden to the League and their rules.
My thoughts were broken as a low droning noise started to grow in the background.
“Shit, so early!”
A helicopter, it sounded like. I suddenly felt very antsy, as if this group of supers had been put together to kill me off. Trapped, without any useful weaponry. I knew this to be a useless line of thought as any one of them could take me out in most situations… unless I was smart. Currently, I wasn't feeling too on my game.
[Is it Clara?]
“No. It’ll be Wren.”
There goes my hope of getting out early. Stressors were much easier to deal with when you could just fill them with the screaming dismay of an arm-mounted shotgun. I sat tense as the helicopter landed and powered down. Footsteps slowly came closer, before boots stepped on wooden floorboards.
“Hey Wren, go ahead and make yourself at home. Will come out soon!”
Stomach muscles tensed up as the figure came into the living room.
An elven woman with radiant blonde hair braided into a long ponytail stepped in, staring at a mobile device. Something on it was clearly annoying her, as her brow frowned over bright blue eyes. Athletic, and her super suit was in similar blue hues. On her back was a modern longbow in ivory and bright silver.
Her eyes didn’t leave the glow of her held device as she strode over to sit down. “You must be the potential sidekick, huh?”
[Dubs. Pleasure to meet you.]
“Neat robot voice.” She gave me a brief glance. “Oh, a cyborg. Uncommon these days for our line of work. Hang on, just need to take a call.”
I sat as patiently and politely as I was able. Given my appearance, I doubted I’d win any awards for my hospitality, but anything that didn’t involve immediate and overwhelming violence was rather alien to me. It was curious that she could still use the device while I sat here... but perhaps there was another network that I couldn't block? League or something else encrypted?
Wren held the device up to her ear and rubbed her eyes. “Hun… Flynn. I told you to sell the Gob-2 stock three days ago, you’re shitting away money… No, Gob-2… What do you mean you thought I meant… ugh? Just do it today, okay? I’ll be watching.”
With a sigh, she placed the device face down on the table and drummed her fingertips on the back while her glare turned toward me.
“Wren. Heiress to the Yewvale Corp fortune. Married to a living limp handshake, who is the heir of the Kinrail Corp fortune. Queen of resting bitch face and somehow I also have the time to be a superhero when I’m not micromanaging two businesses.” Her spiel delivered, she flipped the device the right way up and started tapping at it once more.
My eyes went over to the bow now resting against the wall. While it made sense for a hero to be fully equipped at all times, it still unnerved me. On the plus side, the elf seemed pretty straightforward and knew what she was doing - which was now mostly just ignoring me to focus on her flailing husband. Still, was it now my turn to talk about myself?
[I shoot things with my arm.]
She nodded, but didn’t seem to be particularly listening. A relief, as that was possibly the stupidest thing I’d ever said.
The day was young.
Roxy stuck her head around the door. “Hey Wren. Can I get you a drink?”
“Just a water is fine.”
Our host turned her overly energetic eyes over to me. “Could you give me a hand, Dubs?”
I nodded and vacated the room at a near sprint. Around the corner and into the kitchen…
It looked as though a bomb had hit it, and there were no survivors. Roxy looked manic, as if she was about to tear the house in two and try to start over.
“Just need to vent a little,” she hissed. “You’re my lightning rod, okay?”
[Okay.]
Not that I was entirely sure what that meant. At this stage I had accepted I was mostly a prop for the event, so was likely to accept whatever anyone said as long as I could just nod along and survive the day.
“You’re twice as nice to be around when you don’t reek,” she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm. “I swear I’ll get you in a bath one of these days.”
[As long as it is not today, then I might be swayed.]
It was unlikely, but my white lie seemed to cheer her up and push some of her stress off of the overburdened shelf in her mind.
“Careful, otherwise you’ll just distract me.” She grinned and turned to grab a glass to fill with water. “Go pass this over for me - I’m trying to finish up as quickly as possible, so you’re not having to be my greeter.”
[I haven’t died yet.]
“You’re a doll, I owe you big time.” She waved me away so that she could continue. “As soon as Clara is here, you’re dismissed.”
Promised salvation. I could live with that. Leaving the warmth of the kitchen, I stepped back around into the living room to deliver the glass. Placed it gently on the table and then returned to my chair.
“Thanks, Roxy,” the elf murmured as she glared at her device.
A sharp hiss came from outside, followed by the grinding of stone. Dust and debris washed into the doorway of the room, just before someone stepped into the house.
“Asshole!” Wren scowled out of the doorway at the figure I couldn’t see from this angle. “Don’t make a mess.”
“Not my fault we’re in the wastes,” a male voice came from the entrance. “Hey, Rox. Smells great.”
The man stepped through. Clearly the speedster, Captain Snaps. Short brown hair, stripes cut into the sides. Rough stubble and a goatee. Not the baby-face or clean cut look I had expected from a super. He looked like he just rolled out of an underground fight club, and had a few scars to prove it wasn't his first time in the ring. Dark clothes in shades of gray with bright red highlights. He cocked his head in seeing me at the side of the room.
“Wow, a robot butler.” He winked. “Rox sure is moving up in the world.”
Wren exhaled through her nose. “Keep your mouth in check, Roy. It'd be nice to just get this over with.”
“Whatever.” The man took a chair at the side of the table so he was directly looking across at me. “In a rush to go home and peg your husband?”
“Sorry, you’re talking too fast again. It’s coming out as garbage.”
Well, this was nice. Not that my expectations had been high at all, but twiddling my thumb while the supers slung mud at each other had me wishing I had packed more explosives. Or, any at all.
Before the man had a chance to get his tongue in more trouble, there was a crack of thunder outside. It was at this point I had reached my limit, and whatever social battery I was pretending to possess died completely.
“Hi, Belle, go on through. Everyone’s here.”
“The wasteland is an immoral place to reside. His blessings on you.”
I was certain that if I asked the Captain nicely, then he’d kill me and make it quick. Although, judging by his current expression, he wasn’t too fond of the woman about to step through the doorway either.
Flowing robes of soft pink and pearl whites, paired with an ornate hat of similar color. Bright pink hair, which seemed at odds with her more conservative flair. Gold bound book under one arm, and a scepter with a large pink stone at the top in her other. She paused one step into the dining room and turned to me immediately. Some fervor in bright green eyes.
“The sidekick. Things are worse than I had imagined. Tell me, you poor, lost soul… have you heard the divine word of His grace?”
“Trick question,” Wren interjected. “Any answer will just get you an earful. No evangelizing at the table, Belle.”
The supportive super rolled her eyes and dismissed me with a shrug, moving to the table to give the distracted elf a scowl. “No surprise a slave to the almighty credit has no soul left for salvation.”
“Nope, you’re right there. Pretty sure you don’t get paid in thought and prayers, though.”
[Can I retrieve drinks for either of you?]
I stood and interrupted their bickering, more because I wanted to escape the situation than anything. Even a brief reprieve would be nice, and I could count down another few minutes in hopes that Clara would arrive.
“Oh shit!” The speedster grinned at me. “Pretty realistic movements. Any kind of alcohol would be fine, big guy.”
Belle pulled a face as she looked up at me. “How blessed is your water supply here?”
[Probably to a standard you would find insufficient.]
“Thought as much. That’s why I brought my own - but a glass would be nice, if you have any clean.”
I nodded and excused myself. Paused at the open front door and considered making a bolt for it. The hushed cursing coming from the kitchen drew me back in, even if I had to let out a long sigh before my body moved in that direction.
“Dubs! I’m almost done,” she whispered. “You are a literal angel. Is everything okay?”
A glance around the kitchen and it didn’t look like anything had progressed since I was last in here, and I saw nothing overtly prepared and ready for consumption - but I wasn’t an expert, so chose to not rock the boat. My brain was a few terrible conversations from slopping outside of my ears, and I wasn't entirely sure I could survive that.
[They bicker a lot. Captain wants alcohol, and Belle a glass.]
Roxy pointed a finger towards a couple of cupboards. “Yeah, we’re all assholes, but they won’t go any further than talking shit. They giving you a hard time?”
[Not yet.]
Other than some jibes from the speedster, they seemed to be content with having me as a background character. Suited me just fine. I retrieved the requested items and returned to the dining room.
“Service with a smile.” Captain raised the beer bottle in a mock toast as I returned to my chair.
“Antagonizing a sidekick is a blight on your soul.” Belle shook her head as she withdrew an ornate flask. “I will pray for you twice as hard tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you will be ‘praying’ real hard over me. Provisional sidekick though, right?” He leaned back in his chair. “Supes our level don’t really have them, so you must have shown Rox something real special.”
I returned a blank stare. He did a lot of talking with his eyes. Beyond the childish insinuations and wiggling eyebrows, his eyes were cold and dark. Used to violence. He was giving me a test to see how easy I was to wind up. His ego wanted to know how much stronger than me he was. If I realized how much stronger he was.
“Just saying,” he continued, undeterred by my silence. “Strength supers don’t often get lucky in that department, but you look like you could weather a pounding.”
“Roy,” Belle admonished, while the elf shot him a scowl.
[I suggest you cease this line of conversation.]
“Oh? You suggest? Why, am I hurting your feelings Mr. Robot? Can you even feel, after what she does to you?”
[Show more respect to our host. That is not a suggestion.]
He wasn’t too keen on my insistence. Dark eyes gleamed like those of a shark narrowing in on its prey. Tongue moved around his mouth, hungry for the taste of my mettle, adrenaline driving him toward an excitement he craved.
And then he moved. A rush of air swirled around me as he stepped across the room in a second. Standing in front of me, he looked down and sneered. “Or what? What will you do, fuckbot?”
I stood from my chair, rising to my full height. He was around a head shorter than me, but that didn’t seem to bother a man like him who was constantly looking for something to prove. I could see it in his body language. He was begging me to take a swing at him. A little pre-meal entertainment to work up his appetite.
My first housewarming party. Didn’t really know how these things were meant to play out, but becoming wallpaper paste probably wasn’t the norm. Still, I did need to get some redecorating experience in for my eventual kill room glow up.
I leaned forward so that my re-breather was closer to the side of his head.
[Sit down and be a good guest, otherwise I’ll shove my gun-arm so far up your ass the League will assign you as my ventriloquism sidekick.]