The Fiasco In News: The Fiasco, #1

By Stephan Morse

When you've seen as many catastrophes as I have, "disaster" becomes a relative term. But when disaster hits, feel free to do what I do—hang your head while waiting for the tights-wearing crowd to arrive. That only works if your superpower is the same one I have though. I'm an immortal walking magnet for superpowered problems.

This new guy, Ted—a fake, part-time villain who's in it for the ratings and excitement—wants me to be a field correspondent for his news blog, and his offer sounds good. If you can't beat 'em, expose 'em. The problem is he has no idea what my daily life is like. 

No one really does—but they'll learn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephan Morse
• Release date: Aug 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386823377

Stephan Morse

Stephan Morse was born the year 1983 in San Diego. The next fifteen years were spent slowly escaping California and surviving a public education system. Thus far he's made it to the Seattle (WA) region with little desire to go further. When not trying to shove words together into sentences Stephan spends time reading, catching up on sleep, and otherwise living a mundane life.

Book preview

Part I Four Idiots Wake Up In a Lair

Did you know I’ve been on television at least twice a year since I turned seventeen? My first debut was a horribly misconstrued story about how I had been kidnapped more than anyone else on the planet. It hadn’t strictly been kidnapping, and no matter what that stupid documentary implied, it hadn’t been a cry for attention.

Nor was I secretly some sort of hero. Though one of the capes, a slick little sparker named Bolt Boy with bleach-blond hair, once asked if he could embed a tracker near the base of my skull to make their jobs easier. It was tempting to say yes. Of course, that would have been the same as admitting I wanted to get involved in these messes.

I don’t. At all.

My tally so far has totaled fifteen store robberies, twenty-six actual hostage situations, eleven times when I’ve been dragged off to a secret lair and televised nationally to taunt the public—this lair is number twelve. That tally doesn't count the occasions where buildings have been knocked over and almost crushed me, the times I’ve been launched into other dimensions, or the times I’ve been victim to curses and unnatural disasters.

All that in two years.

After the television special, one of those tech-based heroes in Area 51—some government-sponsored research group based out of Maine—put me under a microscope and declared I had a superpower. I would magically be in the right place at the wrong time. Every time. A side effect seemed to be guaranteed survival. A living Murphy’s law. Sort of. The exact details had been pending review by Area 51’s management, then four villains and one confused interdimensional bus driver wrecked the place.

Ordering my food online didn’t help. Refusing to go outside didn’t help. Moving three times a year didn’t help. Each relocation was followed by a superpowered disaster. A death ray that had been trained on New York swung to the middle of Alabama and hit my apartment. Insurance didn’t cover death rays. It was like asking for flood protection in Florida.

Would you believe Congress was trying to pass a law that required me to notify the entire neighborhood whenever I moved in? Congress. Passing legislation for one person. As if I were the world’s worst sex offender. Websites tracked me, the Social Security Administration refused to issue me a new number, and my credit score had been rewritten to say No and had no ranking.

I couldn’t afford a good television and became unemployable. However, fifteen different states paid me to stay away. Thankfully my genius lawyer included a little caveat that required me to be in control of my destination. She ends up with the bulk of my money every month.

Which brought me to my current situation. Today I was in a typical volcanic lair with an overwhelming blast of heat slapping me in the face. It came from a carefully channeled lava flow on the other side of the room.

Focus lights were attached to the ceiling, highlighting me and three other hostages. Our captor was sitting in a darkened corner on a chair that would likely swivel around in some suitably dramatic fashion when the hero busted in.

These schemes went from plan to trap, to bait, to posturing, to speech, to a battle. It was the same routine each time. Trust me, I know.

Ted? Can you please just let us go? My voice sounded worn out. Anyone else might have called the tone jaded. I should have still been unconscious like the others, but there were only so many drugs that could be pumped into your body over the years before you built up resistances.

Who are you? How do you know my name? he screamed.

Lights slammed on, displaying parts of the room. Ted’s chair, positioned on a raised dais, was rather dramatic as it turned around. I’d give it a seven on the one-to-ten scale. Ten had been redefined after being exiled to a dark fae prince’s realm. His chair had been backlit by some dozen chained and probably damned souls captured from an alternate reality he’d enslaved. The lighting effect and drugs the fae put me on had caused quite the trip.

Since then, everything else seemed less impressive. At least the lights were on now, which explained how the lava flow had been so carefully contained. It was fake.

Ted, our captor, had offensive bits of reflective metal splattered all over his suit. Most likely so they’d catch the light for some hidden camera’s feed as the villain and hero fought. He wore a set of gauntlets that probably weighed more than fifty pounds apiece—counterproductive if he was going into a boxing match. The rest of his clothes were covered in random letters, looking like a typewriter had barfed into a bowl of inky alphabet soup.

Apparently he didn’t remember kidnapping me before. Or the temporary lobotomy one of his lasers subjected me to three years ago. Or when he and a supervillain team got together and managed to ruin half a mountain range I’d been hiding in to avoid a lynch mob out of southern Oregon.

Sorry, TeleGraph. A stupid villain name. We all know how this is going to end. My arms were drawn behind me and locked up in fancy handcuffs.

The other three hostages were still passed out.

That’s right. Tele-GRAPH! I know what you’ll do before you do it! Ted’s voice was a high-pitched whine. I was certain he hadn’t heard my second sentence.

Yes. So, TeleGraph, demonstrate your amazing skills for me. Do you know my next question?

Hopefully he couldn’t tell how big a joke he was. My voice certainly didn’t contain the slightest whit of mocking tone. No, sir.

"Yes, I do, and no, I won’t be letting you go!" He slammed a button on his chair, the lights shut off, and I heard the chair whirling as it turned away.

I didn’t even try to disguise my sigh. How exactly does one talk down a supervillain? And really, what else was there to do until the hero showed up? If he was distracted enough, that might make the fight go quicker.

I like the lava flow. Cotton in my mouth due to fading drugs made the words sound offhanded.

There was a pause from the darkened chair.

Yes, it is rather nice, isn’t it? Ted answered.

Good call going with the fake one.

I thought so. He acted as if I had complimented him on a choice of wallpaper.

I saw the Invincible ManDrake get hit by a real one.

Oh? How did that work out?

So much for TeleGraph knowing my actions ahead of time. Maybe he was thrown off by the idle chitchat.

Well, he was okay until he took a deep breath to scream, I answered.

ManDrake had inhaled the scalding lava right inside his lungs. Invincible turned out to be a bit misleading.

Ouch. Ted sucked in air between his teeth. I’d heard he was only tough on the outside. Gasses are a terrible weakness.

Not sure why anyone wants real lava splashing around anyway. I kept going with my train of thought. It felt as if I was talking to myself at this point anyway.

No, no. Lava does massive damage to a good suit. His voice was far less squeaky at this point. Either the high-pitched voice was fake, or Ted had been lulled into friendliness by me using his real name.

Silence filled the room as things I had to say petered out. It wasn’t as if his grand plan was interesting or that whatever clever traps he’d laid out were important. Heroes typically had three approaches to villain lairs: barrel in, sneak in, and teleport in.

Teleporters were the worst. Snide bastards.

How long do you think this will take? I asked the most important question of my evening. If we were released soon, I could watch half an episode of one of my television shows. There was a rerun marathon on tonight.

Oh, it’s hard to say, really. I’ve tracked three possible Goody-Two-shoes who may show up. Any of whom will be here in the next hour, tops.

I glanced at the prisoners near me. Each one was strapped in and unconscious. The guy on the end looked to be drooling heavily. Hopefully he’d come to and freshen up before the hero barged in.

I timed their sedatives. They should be ready to scream and beg when whoever shows up. TeleGraph answered my unasked question.

Who are the choices? I had nothing to lose by asking. My fantastic power hadn’t failed me yet on the survivor front.

Why? Are you going to try to help them? At least Ted’s voice hadn’t gone all whiny again. Suspicious but not whiny.

No. I wanted to see if I should keep my eyes closed or pull my feet off the ground. Water-powered heroes loved to flood a place, and wet socks made being a prisoner that much worse.

Well, it doesn’t matter much either way. You can’t really help them. I made sure of that. Ted lifted his glittery gauntlets up high. Do scream though. It adds to the atmosphere.

Sure thing.

Providing assistance to the heroes was out since I was tied up nice and tight. My arms barely moved at all. Not even an antigravity field to keep me stable. My shoulders would be sore as hell in the morning. I scanned the floor for loose bolting, anything I could rattle to pass the time.

No use looking for an escape, he said in a slightly confused tone.

I wouldn’t dream of it. My throat felt so dry. Sedatives always made me thirsty.

Are you going to fight back?

No, that would be stupid. I didn’t want to fight a villain. If I did, someone would slap a hero label on me. After that would follow tights and a themed costume—or worse, union dues.

Then what?

For a person who could read my every move, he sure missed a lot.

No visible hinges on the bottom of the apparatus holding me up. No switch within leg's reach. The lock was mechanical and bound around my wrists. Which meant I was basically stuck with my front-row ticket to this upcoming event.

Nothing important, I muttered.

Ted, TeleGraph, swiveled around to watch me. No, really, what are you trying to do?

I eyed him in return then hung my head. There was no point in any of this. I’d be stuck here for the next few hours as things went one way or the other. Then I’d be free for the next villain to pick up. Just killing time.

What on God’s green earth did he expect from me? You’d think he would anticipate hostages asking questions. It wasn’t as if we were gagged over a pit of crocodiles with laser beams on their tails.

You’re not some secret hero, are you? TeleGraph asked.

No. The Boy Scouts said I was overqualified. I tried not to sound snarky and failed.

You look familiar.

Finally he was catching on. It was the same tone every villain and hero used. Maybe he’d remember how many times we’d met before.

I’m surprised.

Who are you? Ted smacked a gauntlet against the chair.

My eyes rolled. Clearly, he had missed my tone of voice. Why don’t you figure out what I’m going to say before I say it?

Bad, bad! I shouldn’t play word games with the villain. Any sane person would lay low until everything had blown over. I didn't want a repeat of the last villain I’d set off. Three days of being chased through a swamp? No thanks.

TeleGraph startled at my words.

Well? I asked.

You’re awfully cheeky for a prisoner.

I’ve done this before. My voice was still dry, and my shoulders ached. Being trussed up like a pig was murder on my limbs. The other captives would be even worse off, assuming they survived.

TeleGraph facepalmed. The sound echoed through the chamber. It had to be jarring with those giant mittens he was wearing.

"Oh, you’re that man." That. As if I were a type of plague. That. An object and not a person. The fellow who was on the tele… Art, Al, Arnold…

Adam.

Right, Adam! Are you so desperate for attention that you’d get yourself kidnapped?

My eyes narrowed and rolled with annoyance. As though I had a choice. I had been peacefully walking outside—my first mistake—and down to the soda machine on the other end of the hotel I’d hidden at. Then one of TeleGraph's rented minions—a giant bulb machine with pincers for arms—landed next to me and shoved me into a bag. The sedative came shortly after.

I’d woken up here.

Yes. That’s me, the attention-grabbing Adam Millard.

You sound sarcastic. I hate sarcasm.

I’m sorry if I caused you any grief. Two points to any member of the audience who can guess how that came out.

Stop that. It’s rude! He sounded like a schoolteacher chastising a child. What sort of supervillain was this guy?

And who was he to call me rude? Rude was being tied up and held hostage to lure in some hero for a confrontation. Was he mentally disabled? The giant gloves and the metal bits on his suit should have been the first clue. Or being a supervillain. Or needing me to scream for atmosphere.

He ranted about a lack of proper social grace in today’s generation. Not that he was that much older than me. It was hard to tell under the getup, and his true face had never been revealed—that I’d seen anyway. I only knew his name because someone called him Ted and he’d protested loudly.

Your alarms are going off. I had no idea if they were or not. I just wanted him to stop giving me English lectures.

TeleGraph clapped. The resounding noise kicked on another set of lights, and the walls lit up with projected screens. The projections appeared to come from, in the center of the room, a tiny black box that was likely some technical mastermind's wet dream.

The displays were impressive.

I don’t see anything. TeleGraph stared at a set of screens that showed security footage of the outside. There were other screens nearby he was flicking through with a wave of his hand. Nothing. Sectors one through eight are clear.

Don’t you have robot security guards to give a warning? I asked.

Ted's back was turned to me, so I scoped out the rest of the room. The walls were carved out. Judging by the security footage, this base was indeed inside a mountain. A highway cut through the landscape outside.

It was past time for me to find an exit. Maybe if the heroes were sneaky they’d free us poor, hapless prisoners, then they’d tackle TeleGraph. Afterward, I could escape and stick out a thumb on the road. Most heroes didn’t put any thought into how to get the prisoners home.

Only a few, but they’re on reserve. I have to pay for them by the mile and by the hour. It’s a scam; they get you coming and going.

Today’s economy isn’t what it used to be.

A dark doorway on one side showed me a way out. The flicker of movement just inside it showed me a lot as well. Someone was in the shadows already, watching. Cue the sneaky hero.

Don’t I know it. There used to be a time when a proper villain could come out ahead even after jail. Big heists and all. Not anymore. Now we have to pay taxes. Taxes! The villain’s hands lifted above his head.

You know what they say: nothing lasts except for death and taxes.

Death's negligible. TeleGraph waved in dismissal and turned around. He clapped, and the little box and its projections shut off, leaving only the ambient light.

Taxes it is. I tried not to stare at the doorway—or where it had been. With the projections off, nothing was visible.

No matter where you look, there’s no way out, TeleGraph said.

No. My attempt to avoid looking at the door had failed. You should probably get back into character.

What?

Your voice, I said. The man’s tone sounded more and more normal the longer our conversation went on.

What? Ted’s voice squeaked.

The wall on the other side of the room from the door shattered inward. Bits of rock went flying everywhere. Multiple overhead lights were knocked out, and another portion of the shower hit my fellow prisoners. A rather large rock hit the back of my calf. My leg tensed, and I groaned.

That had been a sloppy hero entry and yet another painful souvenir. Maybe one day a villain would inject me with healing robots and I could shrug off the damage. Might even be worth the torture. Maybe. I hadn’t exactly experienced that yet, but it might be less frightening than another alien dimension. Certainly less painful than passing through interdimensional waste or being possessed by two demons at once. They’d spent six hours listing off their titles to each other in front of a mirror, using my body.

Brute-force hero struck a mighty pose as the dust settled. Hamming it up in case any cameras were trained on him. Villains and heroes loved to record fights for publicity.

Never fear, I, General, am here to save you. The voice was steady and resounded through the room.

Care to guess how much those speech lessons had cost him? Not to mention reserving the name General.

His costume coloring had been done up in the old red, white, and blue. Mostly the blue and white, with only a few slashes of red near logos and bordering. His chest emblem was an eagle—how patriotic. I still thought he was a dick.

Not the first time he’d rescued me either. Each time, he’d made me walk home. General was the kind of man who only flew the ladies home, and even then, it was only the good-looking ones. Prisoner number three would probably get a few types of rides by the end of the night. Undoubtedly she was some hero-worshipping airhead.

Don’t fear, citizens! General’s statement missed the mark as the three others hung limply next to me.

I stared blankly. Since my inevitable survival had been proven by history, I had plenty of time to be distracted by hopeful thoughts—such as a distant dream of General getting a superhero strain of crotch rot. Then someone could sell the story to the tabloids.

I will save you! General’s eyebrows touched, and his cheek lifted, as though the timing for everything wasn’t working out right.

No doubt he’d waited outside a few extra minutes to make sure we were awake. My talking might have thrown off his entry.

He was the generic super-strong and amped-up-physical-senses hero. How a chucklehead like him had lucked into those powers was beyond me. If anyone had offered the option, I’d have happily traded abilities.

It was harder to think such pleasant thoughts when two of my fellow captives woke up. Like most newbies, the first thing they did was scream. The other male prisoner, wearing a torn-up business suit, hit higher notes than the female.

I attempted to shove my shoulder into the ear closest to the others to block out the noise. It didn’t matter—both voices drove conscious thought from my brain. The first few times this happened, I’d panicked loudly myself. Not quite falsetto, but nowhere near a baritone.

Don’t fear, citizens! General pumped a fist in the air.

Maybe I should have acted thrilled to be rescued. Would you have? I couldn’t bear to overly motivate the man for fear his ego may suffocate us all.

The lights in the room flickered in a neat little strobe dance. No music though, and thankfully no canned screeches were added to the ones already going off from the prisoners.

A huge flare highlighted TeleGraph’s chair and the air around General. As prisoners, we got a lesser light but still something. The chair slowly swiveled around, and bits of reflective material caught the overhead light and pitched narrow beams around the room. Even TeleGraph’s gauntlets caught some sparkles. Against the black, it looked far more sinister than I might have guessed.

My fellow captives had moved past stage one, hysterics, into stage two, terrified whimpering along with mild hope. I guessed even their drug-addled brains were working enough to identify the main features. There were only three elements to work with.

First, the good guy. I use good loosely because I thought he was a jerk. His spotlight was a glaring, bright oval of whiteness.

Second, the bad guy. One whose dramatic level had managed to climb to a 7.5 instead of a flat seven. The disco lights did it—cheap effect, neat results.

Lastly, us, the poor, hapless prisoners. A term that only vaguely included myself because I knew I’d survive.

Not that my fellow captives would necessarily do the same. Things went either way in that regard. I’d tried to help before—tried and failed. I’d like to say my luck of survival extended to those around me, gave me a way to help people, but it didn’t. It didn’t even guarantee I’d be unscathed. And just because good guys were coming to rescue us… well. Hopefully, this would be one of the good times.

Say what you will about General—say it loudly in his face—but like him or hate him, General was good at ensuring people made it out alive.

General, my dear friend! TeleGraph’s voice squeaked again. Performance anxiety? Was that a vein twitching on his forehead?

TeleGraph! General returned the greeting with a surprised tone.

You’ve fallen right into my trap!

I doubt it, villain! General trumpeted.

Ted responded by slamming his giant gauntlets together. Then the room really started going wild. It was like a strobe light of all types of colors flashed.

Clever. General would be nearly blind as his oversensitive eyes shorted out.

In a gutsy move, TeleGraph jumped down from his raised dais. This is excellent!

Ted’s squeaky voice echoed, no doubt to mess with General’s senses. Then he swung his heavy gauntleted hands at General. His action resembled a little girl slapping someone for the first time.

I snickered until I saw General take a few solid blows as though the weight of a giant was behind them. Which was impressive because I’d seen a giant hit someone. They gave the kind of blows that vibrated through the air and right through your gut even on the other side of an open room.

With every few hits, I saw General stagger back, his foot crashing down hard. After a few more blows, he’d stagger back again. It was hard to tell if the attacks were leaving permanent damage. Each time he planted his foot, the ground shook a little. Each time the ground shook, the two captives next to me began their collective whimpering.

They were like a bunch of puppies, where setting off one would set off the others.

Shut up. You’re only making it worse, I said.

They’d edged into full-on screaming, and that couldn’t be helping General. Not when their screams echoed around the room.

They continued screaming. As an adult, you hope other people eventually run out of screams, but they don’t.

Shut up! I said. My voice echoed around the room as well. For just the briefest moment, echoes from General’s crashing foot settled the other noise. Be quiet. For the love of God, be quiet, I groaned.

Both the hostages stared at me with drawn faces.

Wh-what? one of the captives asked to the sound of General’s face being hit again, hard.

Superhearing. Your screaming is throwing him off, I answered. Not that I expected the short version to make any sense to them.

How do you know?

The blonde trophy had enough sense to ask a question. Maybe she wasn’t a complete airhead. Of course, maybe none of them were, but how often did they get a chance at a superhero? I’d have dropped my pants for a few female pop singers. Though with my luck, they’d turn out to be slime aliens from another planet with magical STDs.

I didn’t want to explain that General had supersenses and the lights and screaming combined would shatter any attempt he made to focus. Why? Because this had happened to him before. The man was so stupidly invulnerable that he’d brought the place down around him. That had been a bad event where the villain ended up in a coma from falling concrete.

Come on, General! Fight back! TeleGraph punctuated his statement with another round of those sissy slaps. What’s the matter?

But what can we do? the blonde asked.

Wait for the other tight-wearer, I said.

There had been another shadow in the doorway earlier. A much different hero—General wasn’t the sneaky type.

You saw me? The voice was female and someone’s I didn’t recognize.

I shifted my vision toward the sound, but all I got was an interesting view of my shoulder and someone suspended from the ceiling. She had one foot encased in something reflective and the other bent inward as she hung upside down. Was that ice? Ice was a step up from water, at least until it melted.

Her suit was skintight in all the right places. It was enough to give my pulse a jumpstart. From what I could tell, her costume was colored in a light-blue pattern, and her hair was dyed a ridiculous darker blue. Probably a natural brunette under all that. With the unstable disco lights, it was hard to tell.

Sure. My answer dragged out as I tried not to stare.

Damn female superheroes dressed in two overall schemes: distracting and a bit revealing or downright crazy with some sort of theme like Rainbow Brite gone goth.

That’s pretty good, she said. Her voice wasn’t sultry, but it was distant with a deeper, scratchy pitch. She certainly wasn’t one of those girls with a giggly voice. Three of the top ten heroines had Valley-girl voices and bubble-gum attitudes.

I’ve had practice. I kept my words quiet. None of us needed TeleGraph or General looking this way.

Should have you out in just a moment. Great, our mystery heroine was picking the master lock behind us. Which would probably end with all four of us flopping to the ground.

Cuffs instead! I warned her.

Mine first! The blonde down the way tried to jump into the conversation.

Shut up. Unlock me first! the guy yelled. He hit a high note. Even now, I couldn’t tell if his voice was naturally falsetto or if it was the terror. You’d have thought he’d never been held hostage before.

The blue-suited female worked on my cuffs first, possibly because I sounded sane. Luckily, TeleGraph didn’t look in our direction. Even after our shouting.

It’s all right. They can go first. Because I’d live one way or another. They might not.

Make up your mind, she said.

I shrugged awkwardly, which was more of a scrunch designed to bring my shoulders up. The position my arms were locked in made it difficult. My skills didn’t include lock picking, so getting me down first wouldn’t do a damned bit of good.

Me first! the man yelled, his voice easily heard above the blonde’s and the pounding footsteps of General.

What are you doing there, girlie? TeleGraph shouted in his fake high-pitched voice. The echo rolled around the room, but there was little doubt it was aimed in our direction. Or more specifically, at the woman trying to undo our cuffs.

She cursed and quickly undid one of the individual locks. Unfortunately, the first person released was the hysterical male. He dropped to the ground and sobbed, his legs curled in toward his chest. The uneven lights made it difficult to tell, but I thought he was sucking his thumb.

General! Snap to! the female hero yelled. Her authoritative voice gave me shivers. There were supervillains who could use a lesson or two from her.

TeleGraph stomped toward us. Each footstep was deliberately loud to keep up the assault on General’s hearing.

What…? General mumbled next to a microphone or something. His deep and confused voice outweighed the others.

Next to you! she yelled again. The ground!

TeleGraph’s eyes widened, and he swung back around toward General. The hero fumbled around in the dark, using his strength to smash the floor every few feet, hoping to hit something. There clearly wasn’t a lot of conscious thought going on between his ears, not that he’d ever exhibited much to begin with.

I had been hoping TeleGraph would smack him around a little more. Maybe they’d let me stay and watch once the rigging was unlocked—the one holding the remaining prisoners and me suspended a few feet above the ground. I didn’t expect TeleGraph to win. General was too stubborn to allow it and had brains enough to hold his breath while wading in lava. Not that it mattered with fake stuff.

General continued to fumble around, feeling for something. Whatever it was had TeleGraph panicked. The villain slammed his hands together, and things got truly crazy.

The strobe effects stopped and left the entire room black and sightless. No, not completely black—the false lava illuminated the space softly. After the flashing lights, the dim glow of the lava was nearly nothing. Then a whir of noise near General sounded almost like a countdown.

Smash the damned thing! the heroine yelled.

Where is it? His words didn’t echo anymore.

Somewhere in the room, TeleGraph’s footsteps rushed around. Was he headed to a wall panel of some sort? It was hard to tell, but he fumbled with something near his throne on the dais.

On the ground! the heroine’s throaty voice shouted. She didn’t scream at least, so I felt confident in her sanity.

Where on the ground?

The device I’d seen on the floor earlier beeped. And it sped up as General fumbled. It was a little easier to make out shapes now the light show had ended. As my eyes adjusted, the false lava flow helped. Without it, we’d have been in complete darkness.

Moron, the heroine muttered and went back to the locks. This time, she didn’t even bother trying to pick them. Sorry about this.

Don’t worry. I look forward to this sort of thing. My words were once again without inflection.

I hate sarcasm! TeleGraph shouted.

The beeping from the center of the room sharpened.

My wrists grew cold. She must have been freezing the locks.

Got it! General shuffled an object around. Doesn’t look like a bomb.

He would be immune to the blast if it was one. The rest of us might not be—unless the heroine’s ice powers could shield us.

Save me! the female captive yelled.

I heard the male whimpering on the far side. The fourth victim still hadn’t woken up.

Save me, the heroine mocked in a sneer while her hair bounced.

The lock on my arms shattered. I flopped to the ground and shoved my wrists under each armpit. My arms felt cold and brittle.

Should I throw it? General asked.

Beeping means it wants a hug, I weakly responded. No amount of freezing would stop my sarcasm. How many times had this sort of situation happened to me? This year alone? Enough to know that steadily increasing beeping was never good.

Throw it! the heroine yelled from further away. It sounded as though she was working on the blonde’s locks now.

Hold on, I said. I would be immune to any lasting effects from her superpowers. The blonde wouldn’t be. I slowly made my way over to them. Let me hold the manacles.

You sure? Frostbite is nasty, she said.

I thought she said frostbite. The beeping in the background was increasing and higher-pitched. Whatever General was doing in the darkness didn’t seem to be worth much.

Frostbite? What do you mean? General, save me! the blonde yelled. Her voice wasn’t nearly as commanding as the heroine’s. It was downright annoying. Save me!

I’ll be okay. My teeth chattered. I took my stance beneath the blonde, ready to catch her if she fell. Go.

Go what? What are you doing? the blonde asked as my hands’ temperature plummeted and what little warmth I had regained vanished.

Chills wound up my arms, followed by complete numbness. Hopefully having my hands on the manacles would let me soak up most of the cold.

Got it, our female rescuer said.

The lock snapped, and the heroine carefully pried my hands off the remains. With nothing to hold her up, the blonde slumped forward over my shoulder and frantically kicked. The first two kicks hit air. Her fists hurt but didn’t have much strength. Then she landed a foot right in my groin. No amount of numbness in my arms could prevent a second collapse as I fell.

And… TeleGraph was nearby.

The beeping gave a final-sounding click and stopped. I shoved the blonde off to the side to get ready for the next prisoner. She kicked ruthlessly.

Curtain close! TeleGraph’s voice was amplified.

The box General held beeped once.

I didn’t look. This was the part of the night where the villain made a clever escape by making a mess.

There was a burst of light bright enough to burn outlines into the walls. The flash was accompanied by an ear-popping screech. General yelled, and the man who’d been sucking his thumb grew strangely silent.

Maybe they were all dead. Hero, heroine, captives. Maybe I’d found myself in another situation where the villain’s exit resulted in missing person reports.

No, my ears rang too. The flash had been bright enough that the rest of my senses felt off. As though the world was stumbling sideways on me. I tried to stand and stagger toward the exit I’d seen earlier. There was no way I’d let myself be found as the only survivor at a scene like this. Not again. I just had to figure out where to go. After that burst, even the lava’s glow didn’t help.

A hand shoved me to the ground. Words were shouted, but none of them registered. I saw a brief outline of light-blue well-formed calf muscle. The heroine had pushed me down for some reason. Everything was cold, and neither arm had feeling. I looked down at my limb and tried to move my fingers. They worked. Next I glanced around the room.

General clutched his face. The blonde who’d been kicking me looked to be in silent shock. The man wasn’t moving. The last captive, a plump woman, watched the scene unfold with bleary eyes. She must have woken to the blinding flash and piercing noise.

Our female rescuer rushed toward General—wait, she turned slightly toward the black box that was still beeping in a cadence that sounded like baby giggles, if a baby could giggle in a frequency that shattered glass.

How could she stand that sound? It had to be worse even closer to the box. The noise didn’t appear to bother her. She kicked the box so hard it slammed into a wall and gradually puttered out.

The sobbing man had regained enough sense to look around. There was a desperate hope on his face. Is it over? he asked.

I don’t know, the blonde responded.

Nnngh, the whimpering man mumbled around his thumb.

The fourth captive snorted then dozed back off.

I doubt it’s over. Nothing exploded, I said.

On cue, a final angry beep from the box triggered a rumble in the structure around us.

Collapse! the woman in skintight clothes shouted at General.

General stared blankly.

General, the civvies! the blue heroine yelled.

General shook off his daze and ran at nearly full speed. His recovery time was impressive.

Too bad his personality was predictable. General ran straight for the blonde and ignored the rest of us. Clumps of ceiling fell from above. There was no telling how structurally sound this place was, but I’d bet it wouldn’t last long.

I looked up as a giant chunk of the rock separated from the rest of the ceiling. Its goal was simple—reach the bottom of the room. That meant going through me—and likely the other two shackled hostages. There was a ray of sunshine behind it. This cave wasn’t hidden that far into the mountain.

The blonde ran away from the group toward General anyway. She knew safety when it was offered. Rocks and dirt fell to the ground. The false lava flow splashed and oozed as bits of the cave filled in the channel it had occupied.

Dummy me, I just stared at the rock as it slid downward. It was all pointless really. I’d live. Some of them may die. How many times could you help someone else and fail before trying felt inconsequential?

I’d like to say time slowed down as tons of debris plummeted toward my head. I’d like to say that I felt brief euphoria at the idea of it all being over or that my sense of self-preservation finally kicked in.

But only one of those was true.

I didn’t move. Barely a blink passed as the mass of ceiling cleared half the distance. My eyes closed again. How would I survive this? Maybe wake up with the rock on either side of me? Maybe a dimensional portal would open under my feet? That had happened once—no, twice.

There was a rush as all the air in my body was driven out. My head bounced off the ground; my top teeth clanged against the bottoms. I opened my eyes and saw nothing. Not even the fake lava flow. But my cheeks were freezing, and my breath felt heavy. There was also someone on top of me.

Ample curves on the mystery person pressed against me. My arms were still numb, or I might’ve be able to enjoy the sensation. Within reason.

Hold on, she said.

Just my luck—I was under the female heroine and couldn’t feel anything other than cold. I couldn’t see anything either. My head swam from the slam to the ground.

Hands numb, no grip, I said. It had sounded much cleverer in my head. Maybe now wasn’t the best time for witty banter.

Damn, she said.

I heard a shuffle of noise as the heroine wedged her hands over mine. Though it was hard to tell. All I had to go by was the shift in pressure on my chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was certainly foreign. There hadn’t been a woman this close to me since high school. Before all the supervillain interference in my life.

Can you feel that? she asked, her voice right in my ear. The question barely registered.

Feel? God, I wished I could feel whatever she was doing.

Try to move your fingers.

My brain followed her request. It was hard to tell how successful the process was.

Thank God.

Oh, I muttered. She was worried about her powers causing problems. Don’t worry. I always survive. It was so hard to breathe in this tight space. Not to mention my words sounded loud to me.

This happen a lot?

The air around us was cold, and she seemed oblivious to the temperature while pressed against me.

Hey, wake up.

She didn’t yell at least. How long had passed?

You would not believe how often, I mumbled.

Good. General should be digging us out. I got a dome over the other civilians.

They got a dome, and I got a casket. At least it housed two.

Joy. General’s my all-time hero. I lacked the energy to make my feelings truly obvious.

Shush. Just breathe slowly.

You breathe slowly, I said with a huge grin.

She should have taken a nice deep breath and given me a good reason to live. The feeling was faint, but she was certainly pressed up against me. My imagination could run wild with this once I got out. Or maybe this was finally the end for me. I could die happily like this if it all was over.

I should be able to channel some air over here. It’s tricky, so I’ll need to concentrate. Keep talking. I can listen at the same time.

Concentrate, I agreed. My lips hadn’t quite managed to open as I said the word, so it came out as a mumble. Concen…

She did want me to talk, right?

Trite. Delirium made the word seem funny. A drop of water splashed onto my face. Melting ice or sweat from her? Hopefully my socks would stay dry.

Con… I said. Smaller chunks of the word might help me say it right. It was difficult to think of anything as another splash of water came down. Sin.

Noises filled our small bubble of space, and time blinked by. She shouted, but the words were far away. The haze of my world lifted a bit, and I thought of a question.

You never told me your name. I attempted a complete sentence. How well I enunciated was impossible to tell, the words were so far away.

I couldn’t feel her as my breathing ceased. My thoughts fell into darkness.

Character Dossier

Name: Adam Millard

Gender: Male

Age: 21 Earth Standard Years

Generalized Ratings as Follows

Strength: 3 (Average)

Intelligence: 2.5 (Slightly uneducated) No high school diploma

Agility: 4 (Above average)

Luck: -5 (Excessive trouble magnet) should be dead, see Powers

Attitude: Generally Helpful, Apathetic

Items of Note

Technically