Seven Years Earlier
Darkness. Kevin had a different relationship with the dark than most. For him, it was thing of comfort, a tool for security. Something about this darkness was different. It was foreboding, yet strangely seductive. Normally, he’d be able to see right through, but the inky black before him remained opaque. It behaved like fog, swirling, and hanging in the air. He breathed it in and out. It felt cool and nourishing within his lungs.
It took a few moments for Kevin to center his mind enough to ascertain the details of his situation. Beneath his feet was a ground, crumbling and squishing very much like dirt between his toes. Around him was utterly silent, indiscernible mystery. The wounds he’d sustained were throbbing. With every lungful of darkness, his aches were soothed until they barely pinched at his attention.
Thoughts were elusive within Kevin’s head. Whenever he thought he had a firm hold of one, the last one would slip away. There was no way to set an anchor. Within his mind was the same darkness that clouded his vision. It could be sliced through, but any respite was fleeting. The darkness came swirling back just as quickly as it was shooed away.
Some unseen force drew Kevin forward. The feet beneath him slid across the soft ground. The darkness proved permeable, as he cut through it in whatever direction his feet brought him. There was no telling what lay before him, but it didn’t feel as though it mattered. This unknown was devoid of dread. Deep within himself, he knew that he should have been feeling the chill of terror. Nevertheless, that impulse never linked up with his heart.
Some uncountable length of steps later, a clearing appeared. At the center of the clearing stood an alter. The alter was made of an oily black stone that seemed to shimmer, even with the complete absence of light. Upon the alter writhed a figure whose form eluded Kevin’s recognition. There was a humanoid element, but it was a theme that did not suitably describe what he saw. An enormous cranium sat atop a shrunken face devoid of all features other than a wide, sagging mouth. The face would’ve extrapolated a body the approximate size of an adult, but instead was no bigger than an infant. Around the entire circumference of the body were wriggling tentacles, thrashing about randomly into the air. The grotesque creature tossed its little body around the surface of the alter, but the weight of its enormous head kept it anchored.
Suddenly, the thing fell still and its mouth opened.
“THE KNIGHT IN THE TOOLSHED PHANTOM OF THE NORTH WHEN NO ONE SPEAKS FOR ME THE WORLD WILL DESPAIR,” came booming out of the creatures mouth.
Despite Kevin’s inability to hold a thought in his head, the words effortlessly committed themselves to his memory. It was like they were branded directly onto his brain. The knight in the toolshed phantom of the north when no one speaks for me the world will despair. Kevin mouthed the words, rolling them around with his tongue.
On the periphery of the clearing, figures appeared. No, that wasn’t right. They were there the whole time. Why hadn’t he noticed them until now? Worthless question. There was no answer to be found beyond conjecture, and his mind was in no state to be conjecturing upon anything. All that mattered was who they were. What they were. Their shapes didn’t abide by any laws of physics, geometry, or anatomy that he could recognize. The more he tried to make sense of them, the more his head pounded. Some fundamental fabric in his mind was stretching tenuously. The less he dwelled on contextualizing the figures, the less he experienced that tension, so he choked down his curiosity. The figure closest to him felt familiar, but he couldn’t fathom why.
All the figures had their attention directed at the creature on the alter. Despite their lack of recognizable features, somehow, he could tell. Then, suddenly, all of their attentions turned to Kevin. Something like fear struck his mind, but his body didn’t react. His adrenal gland lay dormant. The rhythm of his heart was unaltered.
“Welcome, Brother,” The being at the head of the alter spoke without a mouth. “The oracle has spoken, spoken for you.”
For him? What did that mean? Kevin wanted to ask, but found his mouth unwilling to cooperate.
“Chaos consumes all,” the head being said.
“Chaos consumes all,” the rest of the beings chorused.
Blinding light.
“Hey!” A much more human, equally unfamiliar voice cheered. “There he is!”
A few blinks and the hospital room came back into focus. A man Blackout didn’t recognize sat in the chair next to the bed. The man’s age was difficult to place. It could’ve been anywhere between mid twenties and late thirties. He was well groomed and in a tailored, expensive looking suit. The pungent scent of cologne wafted through the room.
“Who are you?” Blackout asked stupidly.
“Sam. Sam Sondheim. I’m your media agent,” Sam said in a tone that made Blackout queasy. “And I have to say, when they told me that you-the savior of the Whitestone bridge-the hero who took down the Isakovs by himself-was going to be my client, I almost cried. I deal with schmucks all day. It’s my honor to finally serve a real hero like you. The savior of the Whitestone.”
“They told me the bridge collapsed…”
“Listen kid, the details aren’t important. What matters is that you’re getting the attention that a true hero like you deserves. You’re all anyone’s talking about right now. That makes my job easy, but I’m still working my ass of out there. You killed the Isakovs; believe me, my job’s easy.”
“I didn’t mean to kill them…” Blackout said. “Pavel was killed by the device, and Ilya…it was an accident.”
“Yeah, do me a favor and keep that to yourself.”
“I want to tell the truth,” Blackout insisted.
“Take it from me,” Sam condescended. “There’s a lot of different ways to tell the truth. My job is letting you know the right one.”
“Thanks a lot, Mr. Sondheim,” Blackout said, trying to be delicate. “But I think I want to go back to the way things were before.”
“Before you had a media agent, huh?”
“Yeah…” Blackout admitted.
“I get it,” Sam said without a hint of bitterness. “Don’t trust the guy in the suit. Not an issue. Next time I come back here, I’ll show you what I can do for you.”
Sam winked at Blackout. Though he was still far away from liking him, the candor of the Sam’s final response had won him a few reluctant points of Blackout’s favor. As he watched Sam take his leave, Blackout couldn’t help but wonder just what he’d return with.
The ensuing fortnight in the hospital was a whirlwind of faces. Every second of Blackout’s visiting hours was bespoke. It seemed space on Blackout’s schedule was at a premium, though he apparently had no say in its configuration. Whenever one of his friends was up, it was a delight. Grace and the Phans were there as much as they could be, as were Chunk and the Gecko. Lancelot was always an enigmatic, but welcome visitor. Fuega tagged along on several occasions, without any resolution to their prior dispute. It became apparent that her explosive temper had necessitated a steadfast commitment to rug sweeping. Deathknell popped in once more, though only for a few minutes. It was just long enough for her to brutally shit talk heroes Blackout had only ever dreamed of meeting. When Blackout mentioned Sam Sondheim’s brief appearance, Deathknell simply rolled her eyes, reiterated her warning, and changed the subject.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Wildheart, who Blackout had no prior relationship to speak of, was a surprisingly pleasant presence. He had nothing in common with her, but her company was a nonetheless enjoyable distraction. Throughout her visit, she’d go on and on about her woo woo spiritual philosophies. They held no weight for Blackout, but he appreciated how passionately she spoke on the subject. It all reeked of bullshit, but it was the source of her formidable magic, so there must’ve been some truth to it. The first time he’d heard Wildheart would be joining him, he winced with trepidation. By the third time, he found himself genuinely excited.
The rest of the visits were tedious and unbearably awkward. It felt as though Blackout had to play host to people he barely knew. They were pretending to want to be there, and he was pretending to want to see them. It all felt very gross. The other heroes from the clubhouse were putting in time to bring back stories. They feigned congeniality and familiarity. Blackout had to endure their disingenuous smiles and praise, while constantly deflecting prying questions about what happened on the bridge.
The worst were the members of the chapter administration. They’d never cared about Blackout before. Now, they were treating him like some sort of prince. Far from appreciating the sudden turn, Blackout felt like a commodity. All they ever wanted to talk about was what a credit he was to the chapter. There was an embarrassing amount of rewriting history as well. He’d heard more than one person he’d never had a proper conversation with explain how they’d always had their eyes on him. It seemed that everyone in the clubhouse just knew that he was special all along, though no one had apparently thought to tell him.
The director clocked in only once. It was terse, to say the least. Silverfist was not a man interested in playing guild politics. What he’d said in his office about Blackout was his genuine opinion. It was clear that said opinion had not been dramatically adjusted in light of recent events. He’d only shown up because of a deep sense of duty and fraternal obligation to the Guild. One of his guys got hurt out in the field, and that meant he’d be there in the hospital. Though Blackout could sympathize with Silverfist’s desire to live up to his code, he’d honestly wished the guy would’ve just stayed home. After a few pleasantries, the two spent the visit soaking in a tense silence.
Through it all, Blackout doggedly pestered anyone who entered for updates on Flash Bang. Usually, he didn’t get much, as those who were around him had about as much access to that level of information as he did. Nevertheless, he sustained himself on the crumbs that did fall into his sphere. Those crumbs were few and insubstantial. As far as he had learned, Flash Bang was awake and taking visitors. Beyond that, everyone was tight lipped.
The day before Blackout was to be discharged, Sam Sondheim strolled back into the room.
“You wouldn’t happen to be a fan of Justice Rising, would you?” Sam asked with a smirk.
“I guess…” Blackout answered suspiciously. “Why?”
Fan wasn’t quite the right word, more like envious. Justice Rising was the preeminent youth team in the guild. Team was an antiquated term, the more accurate one being institution, as many generations of historic lineups had already come and gone. Because they’d existed as a team before the Guild had officially formed, they were the only youth team that was in the major leagues. Because of that technicality, being accepted into Justice Rising was the only way for a hero under the age of twenty one to reach the major leagues, skipping all other levels. By that virtue alone, every young hero was envious of the members of Justice Rising.
“You might want to sound a little more excited when you get there for boot camp,” Sam said.
“Boot camp…?” Whatever Sam was alluding to, Blackout just wasn’t picking it up.
“They’ve been knocking down my door trying to get to you! They love your power profile. They think you’re a good fit for their next class of rookies.”
The words made sense, but the concepts didn’t. Justice Rising? The antibodies of his brain rejected the idea outright.
“Wait-What are you saying?” Blackout fished for an explanation that his mind could accept as true.
“Justice Rising wants you. You’re in. Trust me now?”
“B-But that doesn’t make any sense…It’s Justice Rising…Everybody wants to be in it…”
“And you’re the only one that killed the Isakovs. Right now, you can have whatever you want,” Sam said with a fire in his eyes that Blackout wasn’t sure he liked. “You just need someone who knows how to get it for you.”
“But I’m already on a team,” was the only thing Blackout’s brain could come up with.
Sam just chuckled and shook his head.
“The next induction is in eleven months. They say they’ll take you on a few conditions-”
“Conditions? I thought you said they want me.”
“Blackout, they’re in love with you. If they were your boyfriend, they’d be asking your father for your hand in marriage right now. But…” Sam’s voice tapered off ever so faintly. “There are always conditions with these things. You need to meet their athletic and combat standards. Your hand to hand needs to be up to an A-Level. Also, anyone with human grade strength-that’s you-needs at least a B-Level in weapons proficiency. I couldn’t find your grade on that-”
“I didn’t take weapons proficiency…” Blackout admitted.
“Well, I’ll have you signed up for it. I’m putting you in a dozen other courses as soon as you’re out of rehab.”
Blackout groaned. Courses were one of the more stressful annoyances of being a hero. All sorts of opportunities held grade requirements. In order to reach a higher grade, a hero had to pass a test. In order to take the test, the hero had to suffer through a-generally miserable-training course.
“Do you want this?” Sam’s voice snapped into an uncharacteristically seriousness.
“I just-”
“Yes or no answers. You have no idea the strings I had to pull to get this for you. If you’re going to get wishy washy about it, I’m shutting it down right here.”
“Wait-I thought you said they came to you…”
“Don’t change the subject! Do you want this? Yes or no?”
The familiar rush of adrenaline surged through Blackout’s veins. This was all happening too fast. The last time the world had felt real was when he was running down leads on stolen batteries. How did he even get here? So much of his mind felt the fear and anxiety of change. It begged him to press the eject button, to go back to petty crimes. There was comfort in what he knew. If Blackout could look at the whole of his being at once, this part was what he considered to his authentic self.
Then, there was another entity. The one that pushed him forward on the bridge. The one that acted, despite the fear. It felt like a lie to claim it as himself. Nevertheless, it was in there, and it had a voice.
“I want it,” Blackout answered with conviction.
Sam grinned.
“Of course you do.”
“I’m not the guy you want me to be,” Blackout couldn’t help himself.
“You don’t have to be anything but yourself,” Sam said in a shockingly genuine tone. “Just be. Do. I’ll make it all into lemonade. That’s what I do.”
The two stared at each other for what felt to Blackout like an eternity. He had no idea what Sam was thinking. So much of Blackout was crying out that this was a mistake, that he wasn’t ready, that he would surely fail and prove to everyone that he was a phony all along. The more important part didn’t care. Finally, Sam’s demeanor returned to normal.
“You’re getting a personal trainer, too. I’ve seen your last assessment. You’re going to need to get all of your athletic grades up. The only Justice Rising standard you meet right now is speed. Also, they want you to do a residency as a sidekick…”
And there it was. The disqualifier. Sidekick residencies were highly sought after and impossibly competitive. Only heroes in the majors were able to take on sidekicks. Everything about them was appealing for any teen in the Guild. It was one of the most prestigious achievements one could get for their resumes. As a sidekick, a teen hero got to see real action. They had the opportunity to developed a deep, personal relationship with their mentor. Through that hero, they could network and score face time with other major league heroes. Heroes chose their sidekicks, not the other way around. Unless one recruited Blackout, the wonderful flight of fancy of joining the Justice Rising was dead before it ever even boarded the plane.
“They want a name too. You can’t just slum it with some half retired nobody. I’d suggest Flash Bang, but it sounds like the guy’s going to take some time away. You don’t happen to have any other world famous heroes who owe you a favor do you?” Sam asked sarcastically. “I’ll see what I can dig up for you.”
A revelation hit Blackout.
“No, that’s ok,” Blackout said. “I think I have someone…”