Supervillainess (Part Two) Read online

  I think I can do this. “You all stay here,” he said to the others. “I can handle this.”

  No one objected, and he strode across the street. Standing before the glass doors, Kimber debated for a split second the best way to bust them down without shredding his hands in the process. He glanced over his shoulder then back, eyeing the mailbox in front of the bank.

  He went to it and lifted the metal box easily from its place. Flipping it over, he dumped out the mail it contained - with the silent promise to ensure the letters made it to the post office - and returned to the stairs of the bank. He lifted and flung the box.

  It smashed through the glass and landed hard inside, scraping across the marble floors. He charged after it and burst into the bank’s darkened interior.

  “On your right!” Igor cried into his ear.

  Kimber whirled and ducked a punch. He took a kick to the stomach and fell back, landing hard on his ass. Scrambling up, he struggled to track the movements of his opponent in the darkness of the bank. Another kick caught him in the cheekbone, and stars exploded into his mind.

  He blocked the next punch and unleashed his own. His fist smashed into the attacker’s midsection – and sent the man sailing across the bank, ten feet in the air. He smacked sickeningly against the far wall and slid down into an unmoving heap.

  “Oh, god,” Kimber said. “I didn’t mean to hit him that hard.” How many of the body’s two hundred and six bones had he broken?

  “On your –” Igor’s warning came too late.

  Kimber heard the gunfire a split second before hot pain tore through his leg. He gasped and dropped, clutching at his thigh. Someone else kicked him in the face, effectively knocking his mask into a position where it blocked everything. Suddenly, it was raining kicks and punches. The receiver in his ear was knocked out and crushed, silencing Igor’s frantic advice.

  Kimber covered his head, afraid to use his super strength to harm someone beyond repair, and too overwhelmed to know what else to do.

  A brutal kick to his temple sent him close to unconscious, and he went limp, senses fading in and out. The blows stopped, and someone grabbed him beneath the shoulders and began dragging him. Unable to shake the daze, Kimber helplessly waited for his mind to fully bloom into consciousness.

  Several minutes later, he was dropped onto his back. The sidewalk beneath him was hard, and the light of a streetlamp harsh. He blinked, his vision blurry and body achy. A form hovered over him.

  “Your uniform is horrible,” said a familiar female voice. “You have no discipline or sense of how not to get yourself killed. Do you really think you can stop me, if you can’t stay on your feet?”

  As always, with anything Keladry, Kimber was yanked from wherever his mind was and into the moment. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and stared at her. She was dressed in black, her mask obscuring the upper half of her face. But there was no mistaking her soft voice, shapely form and dark eyes. Behind her stood one of her ninjas in a full mask.

  “It’s my … first week,” Kimber answered somewhat defensively as he waited for his vision to finish clearing. “I’ve never been in a bank robbery before.”

  “The good news is you only have to do the exact opposite of what you just did to be remotely successful next time.”

  “Appreciate the advice.” He snorted and sat. His thigh wound had stopped bleeding, but his yellow tights were soaked with red. “I thought you were supposed to kill me if we met again,” he said, meeting her gaze.

  She shrugged. “I did shoot you.”

  I hate this woman sometimes.

  “Consider this a lesson in compassion,” she said mockingly, throwing back the words he’d said to her shortly after they met. “I won’t try to kill you in earnest until you’re my equal. It’ll be more fun to fuck with you.”

  Though he didn’t feel up to it at all, Kimber wasn’t about to continue lying down when he was in official – if terrible - uniform. He climbed to his feet with effort and straightened, despite the aching ribs. Gazing down at her, he planted his hands on his hips in a defiant superhero stance, as Igor had instructed him.

  “Keladry Savage, you will cease terrorizing the city,” he pronounced in his best self-righteous superhero voice. “Or I will stop you.”

  She started to smile. “That’s the spirit, Doc. I’m glad you came back.”

  He scrutinized her, trying to read into the words. “Someone’s gotta stop you from blowing up entire neighborhoods filled with innocent people.”

  “That was my father. You’d be proud - I’ve been light on collateral damage.”

  “No collateral damage is acceptable. In fact, you should call it what it is: mass murder of innocents,” he countered, hands dropping to his side. “It will stop, Keladry.”

  “Reader,” she snapped. “Nice chatting with you, Doc, but I’ve got mass murder to commit.” She whipped out a pistol from a holster at the small of her back. “No hard feelings, okay? I just can’t have you following me.”

  “Wait, Kel –”

  She shot him. Twice. Once in the other thigh and a second time in the stomach. Kimber dropped as agony soared through him.

  “Welcome back, Doc,” Keladry called over her shoulder. She walked away while he writhed in pain on the sidewalk.

  Kimber uttered every curse he knew, clenching his fists to keep from crying out in pain. As her black clad form slid into the darkness, he couldn’t help thinking returning to Sand City was the biggest mistake of his life.

  It took him a full ten minutes to heal from the gunshot wounds, enough time for Sand City born-and-bred Keladry to completely vanish among the streets and alleys. Kimber looked for her for half an hour before deciding it was impossible when he didn’t even know where he was.

  He returned to the bank, defeated and frustrated, to find his companions not far from where he’d left them, half a block from the bank. Bright lights from multiple police vehicles lit up the intersection in front of the bank. Kimber paused beside Igor, whose concerned gaze glanced over his bloodied uniform.

  “You’re right,” Kimber said. “I wasn’t ready. But I want to be.”

  “I might be able to help you with some of the finer points of fighting crime,” Officer Ford said, struggling not to smile again. “If you want.”

  “I need all the help I can get.”

  “You should either fight back more or not get hit as much,” Tanner said wisely.

  “And you need a new uniform,” Igor added.

  “No more spandex,” Kimber said, his pride further wounded after Keladry’s jab at his clothing. “No more capes. No more masks. A bulletproof vest might be nice, since I was shot three times.”

  “Need a ride home?” Officer Ford asked.

  Kimber nodded.

  “Hop in.”

  What the fuck am I doing here and why? Kimber stared out the window as he rode across town, not seeing the dark cityscape when his mind was filled with a list of his failures this evening. Keladry had once told him he had a penchant for torturing himself, and he was beginning to think that was true.

  Which was worse? Getting his ass kicked in his first attempt to save the city, or the fact it was Keladry who did it?

  Anger stirred, along with the memory of how everyone around Keladry ended up dead. He wanted to stop her by saving her, and he’d not quite convinced himself it was possible.

  Perhaps, he needed an interim goal of learning the basics about crime fighting, which would eventually take him where he wanted to be. Keladry had spared him, allegedly to fuck with him later, but her father didn’t seem like the kind who showed mercy to anyone.

  I got lucky tonight, Kimber realized with some unease. He’d walked in blind and unprepared and suffered minimally, because Keladry hadn’t let him die. He wasn’t in the mood to read into her motivations or her claims, but he understood how foolish he’d been tonight.

  “How do you know where I live?” Kimber asked as the police officer stopped in front of the
cozy townhouse Igor had procured for them in one of the least rundown parts of the inner city ghetto.

  “I told you. I’ve been watching you,” Officer Ford responded.

  Kimber frowned and gazed at the lawman. “Why?”

  “In an ideal world, you’d be a cop’s best friend. A few of us figured out where you lived, after the City Council announced you’d be coming to town,” was the simple explanation. “If you don’t get yourself killed, I’m hoping I can be the guy who calls to tip you off about nefarious activity and brags about knowing you.”

  At the moment, Kimber wasn’t feeling confident in his chances. “Thanks. We’re training tomorrow morning at seven. Did you want to come over then?”

  “I thought we’d go to the police gym and learn some basics.”

  “Better start walking now,” Igor said. “That’s across town.”

  “No car,” Kimber said curtly, embarrassed by his lack of superhero-ness this night. “Limited funds.”

  “I’ll pick you up.” Officer Ford managed to say it with a straight face, though Kimber suspected he wanted to laugh.

  “Thank you. Again.” Kimber got out of the car and waited for Igor on the sidewalk.

  Tanner waved and walked down the street, towards his apartment building.

  Kimber and Igor entered the townhouse. Their furniture consisted of a small television, two mattresses and a card table. Igor had made sure the kitchen was stocked with food and cooking utensils, and Kimber had chosen not to ask where his nanny got the money, suspecting he’d probably disapprove. For now, they needed a place to live and food to eat.

  Closing the door behind him, Kimber gazed around the empty home, further agitated by his evening without familiar creature comforts like a couch.

  “I’ll make us a snack,” Igor said.

  Kimber glanced at him, wanting to ask how Igor could remain so upbeat after their disaster of an evening. He went upstairs and took a shower, then examined his body in the bright light of the bathroom. No sign of his injuries remained. It was the only good part of his night.

  Wrapping a towel around his waist, Kimber left the bathroom and padded down the hallway to the room he’d adopted as his. It contained a mattress, backpack and the clothing he’d brought from his father’s house. A mirror on the back of the closet door had been in place when they moved in. He opened it and ran a hand through his wet hair.

  Lowering his arms, he tried to assume the superhero stance Igor had taught him. He lifted his chest and planted his hands on his hips, critically examining the position. It wasn’t bad – but it wasn’t natural either.

  Am I really cut out for this?

  He closed the door a little too hard, and the mirror shattered.

  “If there’s anyone up there, I could use a hand,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling. If not for his father’s faith in him, he would walk to the local bus station and beg his stepmom for the money to return to Chicago.

  Four: Superheroes need sidekicks

  Despite his doubt, Kimber slept for a few hours and met Officer Ford in the morning, determined to try again. They rode in silence across town, towards a gym bustling with activity as other police officers worked out before or after their shifts.

  Kimber trailed the man built like a quarterback into a locker area. After Officer Ford changed, they returned to the main gym and passed by the equipment and several boxing mats. Curious as to where they were headed, Kimber kept his eyes ahead.

  Officer Ford entered a massive gym space consisting of what appeared to be an obstacle course.

  “This is one of our urban maneuvers training areas,” he explained. “No one is scheduled to use it until this afternoon. I thought we could start here.”

  Kimber looked around, impressed. Simulated alleys, streets and even a small house had been created. Each obstacle was surrounded by smaller challenges, such as trenches that had to be navigated or fences that had to be jumped.

  “It’s built for endurance training as well as to teach you where danger can hide,” Officer Ford continued.

  “This is perfect,” Kimber said.

  “Glad you think so. I invited a few friends to help out.” On cue, five other officers in matching blue sweatpants emerged from behind one of the obstacles. Each was armed with a paintball gun – and a smile. “They’re going to make it interesting.”

  I have a feeling they’re going to have more fun than I will. Kimber took a deep breath. “All right. I’m ready. Train me.”

  Initial calisthenics were followed by a guided jog through of the obstacle course before the real training began.

  Kimber soon learned any restraint Officer Ford and his helpers might normally exhibit disappeared when faced with someone who was nearly invincible. Officer Ford timed him, while his helpers maneuvered behind the scenes to shoot at Kimber, throw new obstacles into his path or outright tackle him when he was caught unaware.

  Afraid of hurting anyone, Kimber absorbed the sting of paintballs and the blows of his trainers without lashing out, instead focused on learning to identify the threat before he was engaged in a battle he was reluctant to fight.

  Two hours later, he dropped onto his back onto the mat beside Officer Ford, breathless after the third brutal run through. His clothing was soaked with paint, though the bruises healed quickly enough.

  “Not bad,” Officer Ford said, eyes on the timer on his watch. “You’re learning, but you’re holding back. The goal isn’t obstacle avoidance; it’s neutralization, whatever form that takes. By avoiding those in your path, you’re creating a trail of enemies that jump you when you’ve slowed down enough for them to catch you.”

  Kimber groaned. “Do you know what I can do to you, if I don’t hold back?” he asked.

  “Actually, no.”

  “It’s not good. I have super strength.”

  “Then you need to learn how to wield it as a weapon instead of being afraid to use it at all. It does you no good if you don’t use it.”

  Kimber was quiet, agreeing but also concerned about hurting anyone. “Did any of the robbers die last night?” he asked, thoughts on the man he’d thrown across the bank.

  “No. One was hurt pretty bad, but he’ll pull through.”

  “I know you mean well, but I can’t put anyone else at risk.”

  “Look, Doc,” Officer Ford squatted beside him, “I can’t imagine what’s going through your mind. But I can understand being given a lethal weapon and knowing, if you don’t use your best judgment, someone could die. Every officer carrying a gun knows what that feels like.”

  “How do you ever become comfortable with that feeling?” Kimber gazed at the man with hooded, dark eyes and a five o’clock shadow. The down-to-earth lawman had a way of making him feel better, when he didn’t think he deserved it.

  “You learn its limits and yours. You accept the responsibility of possessing such a weapon and learn to use it – then do your damnedest to never use it, unless someone else’s life is at stake. And when you do use it, you use only minimal force to neutralize the threat. You can’t know what minimal force is -”

  “- unless I know my limits,” Kimber finished. “I understand.”

  The other police officers were approaching from their positions throughout the obstacle course.

  “How about it?” Officer Ford asked, grinning.

  “How about what?”

  “You wanna show me what you got?”

  “It can’t be here,” Kimber said. “I’d destroy your training center.”

  “Pick a place.”

  “Junkyard. I’ve been, uh, learning to throw cars.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Kimber rose. “You might think twice about training me after this.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Officer Ford said and shook the hands of the other officers as they walked by. “We’ll try this again tomorrow, if you’re interested.”

  Kimber picked up his sweatshirt and joined his new training partner.

  They left the po
lice station and went to the isolated, large junkyard south of the city. The owner glanced up from his position reading the newspaper as they strolled through the open gates. Kimber waved, and the owner lifted his chin in greeting before returning to his paper.

  Kimber led Officer Ford through the maze of towering stacks of metal appliances into the area containing the old, rusted out frames of cars.

  “You probably want to sit there,” Kimber pointed to an area with chairs, where Igor usually sat. He went to the nearest vehicle and bent, picking it up from the frame. It was as light as a toaster, and he held it over his head then turned to face Officer Ford. “I’ve been working on aiming and throwing them.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What purpose is there in throwing a car?”

  “To get used to throwing something heavy with accuracy,” Kimber replied.

  Officer Ford crossed his arms. His features were unreadable.

  Kimber faced away and flung the car towards a red X Igor had spray painted on another car two hundred feet away. He missed, as usual, and muttered under his breath, frustrated.

  “I’m going out on a limb and saying, despite your build, you never played sports in school,” Officer Ford said.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Aim has nothing to do with weight. If you can’t throw a ball and hit a target, what makes you think you can throw a car and hit it?”

  “There’s no instruction book telling me how to become a superhero.” Kimber sighed. “All right. Tell me what you want me to try.”

  “I gotta head in for my shift. Meet me tomorrow morning at the batting cage on Tenth. It’s within walking distance of your place.”

  A little disappointed in himself, Kimber nodded and trailed Officer Ford out of the junkyard.

  Twenty minutes later, he was dropped off at his door. He entered and breathed in the scent of lunch – ham for Igor, tofu for Kimber and mashed potatoes and some kind of cinnamon dessert for both. The moment he closed the door behind him, the television clicked off, and Igor emerged from the kitchen.

  “How was it?” the oversized nanny asked.

  Joining Igor in the kitchen, Kimber explained his morning in as few words as possible.