Corpies (Super Powereds Spinoff Book 1) (14 page)

“Have you come here to be a solo Hero?”

“Is there any truth to rumors that you’re still involved with Tower?”

Owen’s fist tightened at that last one, a gesture he purposely hid by shifting his hand down to his side. Things hadn’t gone well for Colby, or Tower as the world knew him, after they’d been caught. To hear his name come out of the mouths of one of the same sort of media vultures that had helped tear him down. . . it was a good thing Owen had learned a lot about self-control in his time away from the life.

“I’m the real Titan, the one and only, with all the good and bad that brings with it,” he told them. “I’ve decided to come out of retirement, and Brewster seemed like a great town to work in. As for Hero teams, I won’t be needing one of those, nor I am truly working solo. I’m proud to be working as the Hero Liaison for the fine PEERS group you see around me. Now, if that settled everyone’s questions, we really should start helping clean up all this broken glass.”

One of the reporters, the same one who’d asked about Tower, broke away from the group, getting in so close that Owen could smell the recently-chewed mints on the man’s breath.

“Titan, what about the rumors that you and Tower have-”

“You’re new to this job, right?” Owen stared down at him, doing his best to keep his face impassive.

“That’s right! I’m Kip Sterling of the Brewster Evening Edition, the hardest hitting-”

“Uh huh. I guess either your production team doesn’t like you, or they thought it would be a good initiation prank to keep you in the dark.” Owen gently spun the man around and pointed to the other reporters, who were maintaining a safe distance from everyone in a costume. “See how none of them kept pressing things once I told them we were done, or even kept coming forward when I held up my hand? Why do you think you were the only one to rush over?”

“Because Brewster Evening-”

“Wrong. Because when a Hero is on any kind of duty, the press is only allowed to be as close as we say they can be. Just like cops don’t let you in to active crime scenes or dangerous situations, Heroes have to be able to work without worrying about innocent people getting hurt.”

“But that’s only for when there’s an actual fight going on,” Kip Sterling said, finally losing some of the naïve luster in his piercing blue eyes.

“Or for when we’re doing heavy lifting, or suspect a threat isn’t entirely neutralized, or that an area is unsafe for those without proper training or abilities. I can keep going, but you get the point. Yes, this area doesn’t have any robots terrorizing it that we know of. That doesn’t negate the broken glass, uneven concrete, and various bits of debris, not to mention the Supers using their abilities. We all have skills and clearance that let us walk around in these sorts of places safely. You being here puts your safety at risk, and as a Hero I can’t very well have that.”

Owen patted the reporter very gently on the back; the last thing he needed was to accidentally bruise this little asshole and have that be a headline story. “Now, go back to the sidelines with the others. I’ll overlook the mistake this time, since I believe that’s what it was, but next time be more cautious. On scenes like this, unless a Hero specifically gives you permission, going where you aren’t supposed to is a serious crime that will get your station heavily fined. I’ve seen it happen before, and they are never happy about it.”

Kip Sterling seemed like he was about to voice another objection, but a glance to his fellow reporters quelled his resolve. They were all shuffling about, avoiding eye contact and refusing to come any closer. Kip Sterling wasn’t secure enough in this job to risk bringing down a fine on his station. The truth of the matter was that Brewster Evening Edition was a relatively new show, which was why he was trying so hard to get a sound bite for it. This also meant that if the program caused the network too much trouble, they’d have no issue canning it. Kip slunk back to the sidelines with the others, leaving Owen alone with his team.

Galvanize approached as soon as the reporter was gone. “I thought you said you knew how to handle reporters. That one looks like someone stole his teeth-whitening trays.”

“You’re one to talk, Smiley. Besides, I think it went pretty well. I could have slapped that guy with enough fines that his stations wouldn’t let him mop the floors, let alone hold a microphone. Instead, I let him off with a warning and explained the situation to him. Yeah, I took no bullshit, but I did one of their own a kindness. That sort of thing shows itself in the way they write up the stories.”

“And you didn’t think you needed to answer more than three questions? Even we usually do full five-minute interviews after big rescues,” Galvanize said.

“Of which I’m guessing maybe three seconds end up being used, if that.” Owen grabbed a trash can from the back of the vehicle, hyper-aware of photographers snapping dozens of photos of even that mundane an action. “Dealing with the press is like being a performer; you leave them wanting more. The less they know, the more they’ll speculate, and the more they speculate the more coverage they’ll devote to that speculation. Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes it’s bad, but either way it’s coverage, so I think Greene will be happy.”

Galvanize thought it over for a moment. “I don’t know if Mr. Greene is ever actually happy. Hopefully he’ll be ambivalent. I think that’s his version of happy.” 

24.

               With the media handled, or at least subjugated enough to where Owen no longer considered them an issue, the team turned their attention to tidying up the area ravaged by the robots. The cleaners had done an exceptional job of making sure all the roads were clear and the buildings stable. They’d even rebuilt several structures before calling the job done. Nevertheless, there was still a fair bit of debris strewn along the sidewalks and in the drainage gutters of the streets. Shattered glass was abundant, as well as small chunks of concrete. Some pieces were quite sizable, the sort that would have required more than one person and might have resulted in an injured back; Galvanize sent Owen and Bubble Bubble to deal with that particular obstacle.

Owen’s method for handling them was to simply lift the bits of concrete effortlessly off the ground and set them into the trash can he’d been provided with. Initially, he’d worried that it would fall apart when it was filled and he tried to lift it, but that concern proved groundless as the repository held together flawlessly. These kids really did have the best of everything, even trash cans.

Bubble Bubble made slower but steady progress. She would summon one of her energy spheres, carefully encasing the bulk of the debris, then move it over to her own trash can and let the sphere dissipate. Her speed didn’t bother Owen—she was using her abilities the best way they’d function—but he did notice she seemed to take a lot of time between each piece of debris, fixing her hair and repositioning herself several times. At first he thought she was trying to find the best angle of approach for her pieces. By the fifth time it happened, Owen had recognized the all-too-familiar behavior.

“Are you posing?” He set the sizable bit of broken building onto the top of his trash can, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.

“Of course I’m posing.” If she was bothered by being called out on that fact, she didn’t let it show. In fact, she kept the same poised, neutral expression that she’d been wearing pretty much since Owen met her. Even her smiles and reactions were subdued, as though she were constantly on a job interview.

“Let’s back up. Why are you posing? This isn’t a shoot, it’s work.”

“For some of us, those are one and the same,” Bubble Bubble replied. “Many of my sponsors are clothing and makeup companies, which means I have to be camera-perfect at all times. It wouldn’t be proper for someone to capture an unflattering photo of me.” A sphere crackled into existence around several small but jagged pieces of concrete and floated on a slow path toward the trash can.

“I really hope you’re joking. What’s the worst that could happen if someone took one bad picture of you?”

“I’m not concerned with what could happen. I’m worried about what couldn’t.” Even as she manipulated the sphere through the air, Bubble Bubble was able to keep her tone and expression perfectly placid. “A proper presence at all times is what opens doors to other opportunities, like modeling jobs outside of the costume, and those are a stepping stone to roles in television or cinema. Constant composure and beauty are the hallmarks of a successful media icon. We can’t all afford to brush off the press at our convenience.”

She set her latest load into her trash can and looked down. “Pardon me. I’m going to take this over to the large dumpster.” A new sphere appeared, this one encasing the whole trash can, and Bubble Bubble walked off toward the industrial-sized dumpster that had been set up to hold the accumulated debris.

“Don’t let it bother you; she’s a career girl.” Hexcellent came over, broom and small bin in her hands. Useful as her demons were, none were suited for delicate work, and they already had enough lifting power without Big Henry. “B.B. climbed her way up from a bit role on a minor PEERS team in South Dakota. The girl has ambition like a mother fucker. She’s probably the best person on the team at working crowds and cameras.”

“So this job is just. . . what? A step on the path?”

“If you know of another career that gets a Super media exposure and access to professional PR teams
and
minimizes personal risk, then I’d love to hear it,” Hexcellent said. “I give her shit at home, but honestly I sort of get it. The girl wants to go to the top, and as long she keeps her ass working hard at this job while she’s here then I don’t care where she goes next.”

“You make it sound like you aren’t even friends,” Owen replied, lifting a few chunks of debris into his trash can.

“We’re not. We’re teammates. I trust her to do her job and she trusts me the same way. Before I came on to the team there was someone else she trusted with that duty, and when she leaves for greener pastures I’ll get used to someone new. That’s all work, though; our personal lives stay way the fuck separate. It’s the same for basically everyone on the team, except for the monthly game nights that Galvanize always tries to organize.”

That Galvanize would try and get his team to interact socially didn’t surprise Owen at all; what shocked him was the idea that any team could work so well together yet be so separate. His Hero groups had been thicker than family. Then again, they’d also been facing the very real threat of death every day. That sort of pressure forced bonds between people, making small differences irrelevant.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized the truth in what Hexcellent was saying. Even today, during breakfast, Galvanize had gone over everyone’s schedule and they’d all been doing different things. Helping clean downtown was the only team activity of the day, and it couldn’t possibly have been planned. These four were living entirely separate lives that happened to brush against the others’ on occasion.

He grabbed his trash can and began hauling it to the dumpster, lost in thought. Maybe this was good enough for most of them, but Owen deeply suspected Galvanize wanted more. As the Hero Liaison, it wasn’t technically under Owen’s purview to deal with that sort of thing.

Not that he gave a shit. Owen hadn’t left retirement to sit on the sidelines when he saw a problem. If something needed doing, he was damn sure going to do it. The only hurdle to jump was figuring out how.

25.

               “I saw it on the news, but I couldn’t believe it until I confirmed it with my own eyes. Titan,
the
Titan, back in costume. And doing the work of the little people no less.”

Owen felt his spine stiffen as soon as the voice reached him. He’d been bent over to grab a particularly large piece of rubble that required both hands to keep balanced when those words had washed over him like a wave from the distant seas of his past. Slowly he rose, turning his body until the speaker was in view. It was an older man, one who actually showed his years, unlike Owen. He wore a costume fashioned of red, gold, and white, with lots of burst and flare patterns woven throughout the fabric. A beaming smile was partly concealed by a bushy mustache as he stared across the slowly dissipating wreckage.

“Topsy?” Owen crossed the small gap between them. He towered over the mustached man, who generously could be measured at five-foot-three-inches tall. “Topsy, when the hell did you move to Brewster?”

“’Bout five years ago. After my wife passed—thank you for the flowers, by the way—the city was too full of old memories. Besides, I wanted to be nearer to my kids. That’s a boring question, though. I’m much more interested in what brings
you
here.”

“It’s a long story, and not the sort you tell when there are reporters about,” Owen said. “The short version is I’m here as a Hero Liaison.”

“I already knew that part. Course, I checked up on you as soon as I heard you were back.”

“Titan, we need your help hauling the dumpster. . .” Galvanize trailed off as he jogged over, realizing that his team member was engaged in conversation. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nuttin to apologize for. Job always comes first, no matter what that job might be.”