The news feed was temporarily replaced by a still image of Ragnar the Viking King surrounded by black text on a blue background and a six-sided graph. The image reminded me of an athlete’s stats that ESPN would occasionally show during a game.
Ragnar the Viking King
Level 3 Body Enhancement
Combat Rating: A+
Classification: Hero
Power: S
Speed: S
Range: C
Durability: S
Precision: A
Potential: A
“We already know Ragnar’s stats. They’re just trying to pad time,” one of the nearby laborers complained.
The stat card only appeared for a moment before being replaced by a picture of a middle-aged man in a lab coat. The picture was clearly a mug shot, and the man had a noticeable black eye. It took me a moment to realize I was looking at Doctor Lazarus’s stat card. Unlike Ragnar’s stat card, the one for Lazarus was transcribed on a red background.
Doctor Lazarus
Level 2 Genius
Combat Rating: A-C
Classification: Villain
Power: E
Speed: E
Range: E
Durability: E
Precision: A
Potential: S
“Why do they even show the hexagram for Geniuses? They’re all the same,” the same laborer as earlier muttered.
A man standing next to the laborer said in a helpful tone of voice, “Maybe they do it to let the Heroes know how much they have to hold back?”
“Shut up, Frank. It was a rhetorical question.”
When the screen switched back to the news feed, Ragnar stood a few feet away from the camera. I couldn’t tell if he had approached the reporter or if the reporter had approached him.
“Do you have anything to tell our viewers, Ragnar?”
“Yeah,” Ragnar said, and I was surprised to notice that he had no accent. He grabbed the microphone out of the reporter’s hand like a professional wrestler. “To those of you who have ever considered attacking the innocent people of this continent, let this fight serve as a warning.”
As Ragnar spoke, the gargantuan mech in the background slowly turned as if drawn by the sound of his declaration. Somehow, the mech seemed to smile as it saw Ragnar standing there next to the reporter.
A loud, mechanically-enhanced voice resounded through the city as Doctor Lazarus said, “I see you’ve finally decided to show your face, my nemesis. Today is finally the day that Doctor Lazarus kills the foolish viking.”
It was subtle, but I could have sworn that I saw Ragnar roll his eyes as he turned to face the giant robot. He cleared his voice and shouted at the top of his lungs, “You’ll never win, Lazarus! We have met in combat more than a dozen times, and you have never managed to harm me!”
Seriously? Doctor Lazarus had been arrested more than ten times? How many times do you have to threaten a city before somebody just kills you in prison?
“Oh? Perhaps you’re right, but this time is different. As you can see, the Mark VI is far stronger and larger than anything I have previously created. It is strong enough to crush you like a gnat.” One of the mech’s house-sized hands began to rear back as Doctor Lazarus spoke.
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At a volume too low for Doctor Lazarus to hear, Ragnar turned to the reporter and said, “You should run.”
“We need to go!” the reporter screamed as one of the Mark VI’s fists came careening in their direction.
The news feed became shaky and hard to follow as the cameraman ran away from Ragnar, but the camera remained fixed on the red-haired viking. As the giant metal fist approached Ragnar, he slowly lifted his axe in two hands. The fist reached him, and he swung his axe in an explosion of vicious violence.
Ragnar was pushed back a few feet, and his legs dug deep into the ground before he managed to halt the giant robot’s momentum. As he was pushed back, shards of his broken axe flew backwards, and he was forced to stop the fist with his hands. The momentum was in Doctor Lazarus’s favor, and it looked like he was about to overpower Ragnar.
“No!” Somebody in the crowd around me shouted in despair.
“What just happened?” I asked the gruff laborer beside me.
“Ragnar’s axe was broken. Doctor Lazarus has never managed to do that before.”
My breath caught in my throat. Was I about to watch a man die on live TV?
Ragnar’s face scrunched up in effort as he lifted his legs out of the cracked concrete. He took a step forward, and then another step. Miraculously, the miniscule man was able to push back the gargantuan mech. The King of Vikings adjusted his grip and began to squeeze the hardened steel fist. His mouth twisted into a smile as the metal twisted and crumpled between his hands.
“Your machine is still too weak, Lazarus!” Ragnar shouted.
Everyone in the crowd erupted into a chorus of relieved cheering. The energy was infectious, and I couldn’t stop myself from shouting, “Get him!”
With a burst of steam, the mech’s arm detached from its main body. It moved to grab at Ragnar with its undamaged arm, but it didn’t manage to reach in time. Ragnar lifted the discarded arm and swung it at the mech like a baseball player swinging a bat. There was a resounding crash of crumpling metal, and the mech fell onto its side.
Before the mech could stand, Ragnar fell upon it like a Carthaginian soldier at Cannae. He wrenched the mech’s limbs from its body before tearing into its giant metal chest. Oil spilled from punctured tanks and severed tubes like blood from a large animal.
The reporter and cameraman slowly approached the disabled mech as Ragnar tore Doctor Lazarus out of the machine. The viking held the deranged scientist by the lapels of his lab coat, and Lazarus began to laugh.
“I almost got you that time! Next time, I’ll…”
“Just shut up,” Ragnar said, though his voice had a very different quality. The larger-than-life tone was gone, and he almost sounded like a normal person. He must have assumed that the reporter ran away, and he was no longer on camera. “I thought you were getting better, but then you go and pull this shit. I mean, Christ, they just moved you to a red threat rating. Do you know what that means?”
“I’m wanted dead or alive,” Lazarus said with a smile as if the idea was appealing to him.
“It means most Heroes wouldn’t bother taking you in alive,” Ragnar said, shaking Lazarus to get his point across. “If they move you to a black threat rating, I wouldn’t have a choice. I’d have to kill you.”
“Next time, you won’t have the chance.”
“You’re sick!”
“Oh, I am sick, just like all super-villains!”
“No, I mean you’re mentally unwell! You keep having these episodes, but you need to…”
The feed was cut and replaced with a placeholder screen that reminded me of the old Indian-head test pattern screens that would appear when a broadcast had technical difficulties. In the center of the screen, the words “PLEASE STAND BY” were transcribed in large white letters.
The crowd groaned in annoyance. To my side, the chatty laborer said, “I guess Ragnar won again. I just hate it when they try to make the Villains seem like people.”
The crowd around me began to disperse, and the swiftly-moving mass of people forced me to leave the area. As I walked alongside the large group, I held my nose closed and tried to distract myself with thoughts of the fight.
I had just witnessed a fight between a superhero and a supervillain. It was like a scene from a comic book, and the only thing that convinced me anything from the news feed was real was the conversation at the end. When he didn’t think the cameras were rolling, Ragnar seemed to be really worried about Doctor Lazarus. For just a few seconds, Ragnar seemed like a real person to me.
That moment of compassion was truly shocking. Even behind the scenes, Ragnar was an actual hero who cared for both the civilians and villains of Pacific City. Decades of genre deconstruction and the cynical reality of modern events had made it hard for me to believe that a true hero could actually exist.
I felt an unexpected emotion swelling in my chest; it was an emotion that I didn’t think I was still capable of feeling: inspiration. That news feed had inspired me, and there was nothing I wanted more in that moment than to embody those heroic ideals.
As I walked, I heard something on the edge of my hearing. About a city block away, an alarm was blaring. I could see the periodic red flashes of light from an alarm that was going off just out of sight.
My lips curled into a smile as I realized that I wouldn’t have to wait long to act upon the positive feelings roiling in my chest. I placed my motorcycle helmet over my head and ran at full speed toward the alarm.