Gigaheroes

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: Seattle Vance

I never was one for slow days. There were still further preparations to be made, acquiring the right uniforms, conducting surveillance checks on our route plan, and outfitting the gear. None of which was particularly exciting, but it was necessary to ensure the heist went off without a hitch. For our supplies, we had the very helpful assistance of the Index, which never failed to impress. As for scouting out potential problems, I had Joshua running hacked drones over the location. 

During all of this, Raven surprisingly reached out and invited me to the firing range. Yes, apparently the Index did have an underground range, though it was little more than an abandoned subway tunnel with some electric lighting strung up. The targets were scavenged sheet metal with paint for the bullseye. They did rig this handy cart along the subway tracks to change the distance of the targets. It was a neat system with a remote programmed to send it forward or back. 

As I walked down the steps to the tunnel, I expected to see the same dour Raven I saw in the meeting room. Instead, I found her grinning as she practiced with an M4, which we would be carrying in the heist. She was a good shot too, not perfect, but she could put a few rounds in a 400 yard target easy. 

She saw me approaching out of the corner of her eye and put the M4 down on a nearby fold-up table. 

“It’s been a while since I shot an M4,” I said. 

Usually, rifles were too big and cumbersome to be useful in the cities. If a drone spotted you with one, you would have the police on you in minutes. I mostly had to stick to small arms for my work. Outside the cities, however, it was all fair game. Everything was on the table out there, up to and including armored vehicles. 

“It’s a favorite of mine. It’s one of the last true ties to old America. Even a century later, we’re still using the same basic design.” Raven said, taking an empty magazine and loading rounds with her thumb. “True, we can’t make anything better anymore, but I think there’s some charm in it.”

“I didn’t take you for an aficionado for history.” 

She shrugged. “I’m not. But my grandfather served in the old country. I was told it had been a proud family tradition before the collapse, before bombs fell. Holding the M4 feels like I’m continuing something, even if it’s just a gun.”

“My parents used to be old America nuts. I remember our little apartment was stuffed with flags and coins and everything you could think of.” I walked over to the range and picked up an M4, feeling its weight in my hands. “I don’t know when the realization hit. I think it was eight. It was right after I got my superpowers. I recall I was sitting in the living room while my mother was trying to put up an old American flag. I think it was in the memory of some holiday about independence or whatnot. Anyway, she was putting it up, and the cloth ripped nearly in two. And she was left standing there on the stool with nothing but the tatters of a forgotten flag in her hands. I realized at the moment that it was all a sad pantomime. I wish my parents moved on, instead of wasting their lives believing in something that everyone was embarrassed by.”

“You think people should just forget the past?”

“Forget it. Bury it. Kill it. It all doesn’t really make a difference to me.” I took a full magazine and loaded it into the M4. “What matters is living in the here and now. It astounds me that even people born after the bombs can have nostalgia for something they never had. And one way or another, it always ends up killing them.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong, but I don’t think you’re right either.” Raven crossed her arms. “Doesn’t seem right that after all the Democratic Union has taken from us, that they get our past too.”

“They can take whatever they like because they’re in charge.” I pulled the charging handle and aimed down range. I fired three shots in quick succession. Sparks flew off the target, and looking up, I saw all three had hit dead center. 

I grinned to myself. It seemed like my skills hadn’t completely rusted away. Setting the M4 down, I turned to Raven. “I assume you invited me here to discuss more than old America.”

She eyed me with a serious expression. “You’re right. I need to know what kind of leader you are. We’re all going to be depending on you for this mission, and I need to know whether you’re the type of man to pull the trigger… or not.”

“I’m the type of man who gets the job done. Does that answer your question?”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not questioning your judgement. Far from it, and I don’t think either is better than the other. In the lives we lead, you sometimes need to put a bullet in someone you rather wouldn’t. And sometimes you need to let someone go you’d rather see dead. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?” 

“I think I do.”

“Everyone falls somewhere on that line, and I need to know which man you are, so there is no miscommunication between us.”

“In the briefing I said no witnesses.”

“And you also said killing was a last resort. That might not be contradictory in theory, but in practice…”

I nodded. It was a difficult question to answer. I had always considered myself a professional, someone who did anything to get the job done. And if there ever was a job important enough to cross a few lines, this one was it. But call it as you may, I also didn’t want more blood on my hands than necessary. 

“Play it easy,” I finally answered her. “Who knows? If there is a God, maybe He’ll smile on this little heist of ours. And we are going to need all the luck we can get.”

Raven nodded. There was no judgement in her eyes, at least none that I could tell. If she was disappointed in my reply, she hid it perfectly. She lifted the M4 back up and aimed down range. 

“It was good talking to you, Ghost.” She fired and nailed the target between the eyes. It left a smoking hole where the brains should be.

I waved my hand and turned towards the exit. I had a feeling Raven preferred to be alone, and I had no more reason to stay. However, I paused just as I was about to leave. I turned to her once again. 

“Out of curiosity, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” 

Her eye glanced at me. “Why do you want to know?”

I grinned softly at her. “I want to know what kind of person you are.”

She turned her gaze back down the range. “I was careless, and my parents got caught.” She fired again. 

“Huh,” I said. “That’s mine too.”

…

It was noon as I was strolling through City 57—invisible of course. I wasn’t an idiot. But I did want to stretch my legs. It seemed I was spending all my time in cramped apartments or secret hideouts, and I wanted to explore the city itself. 

I’ve been to quite a few places in the Democratic Union, mostly sticking to coastal areas. My hometown was City 33, formerly known as Atlanta. It’s strange, all the older people speak with that classic southern drawl, but none of the young ones do. There were still regional accents and such, but nothing like what I saw watching old American tv shows and movies. Take for example, the word “oil”. The old people pronounced it as “ole” whereas everyone below twenty pronounces it as “eeyol”. 

Funny way of speaking, I know. But it was what it was. And when all the old people were gone, that’s the way that word will be from that point forwards. People spoke one way for decades and now there’s a new way of speaking. And that way of speaking will be replaced by another way of speaking. It’s sometimes subtle, but the ways of the world change. The way we live and breathe now is different than the way we lived and breathed fifty years ago. I only hope whoever comes after us gets a better lot of it than we did. 

My phone quietly buzzed in my pocket, and I turned a corner into a deserted alleyway. Finding a nice secluded spot between some smelly trash and a brick wall, I flicked open my phone and saw it was a call from Mr. Greene’s number. Answering it, I put the phone to my ear. 

“Mr. Greene! I didn’t think we would be talking again.”

“Neither did I, Mr. Vance,” his voice responded coolly. “But a… situation has come up. One that requires your expertise.”

I furrowed my brow. “You’re offering me a job? I think you should know I already have my hands full. Besides, don’t you have a full clientele who can do it for you?”

“This is a rather delicate matter. Extraordinarily delicate, in fact. This job cannot be tied back to the Index in any way. That limits my options, and as a matter of coincidence, it relates to your own operation. Consider it a bonus, if you will.”

“I’m listening.”

“Daniel Peterson—the superhero once known as Nighthawk—has gone rogue.”

“Oh shit.” I laughed, amused. I recalled the young boy in the back of the armored truck. He wasn’t a bad one by any means. I actually rather liked him, from the little I ascertained from our encounter. It didn’t surprise me that he would pop off, but the last thing I expected was that it would be now. 

“Yes, he has sided with Adam Mason. Whatever plans you have for the man likely involve him as well. I would rather that they didn’t, but we’ve crossed the threshold of no return now.”

“So what would you have me do? Nab him for the Index? I still don’t see why this needs me.”

“Superheroes going rogue are a very dangerous matter for the Democratic Union. They can’t be handled publicly. So, there are going to be Spec-Ops going after Peterson.”

I’m not going to lie. That did send a shiver down my spine. There were superheroes, and then there were the people who handled what the public couldn’t. These were the class fours and fives deemed trustworthy enough to do the dirty work of the Democratic Union. And I did not envy the man they went after. 

“So you can’t do the job because if any of it traces back to you—”

“It puts the Index of City 57 at risk. I’m breaking several major rules by even having this conversation with you. However, Daniel Peterson is a class three with a very useful power. I can’t pass him up.”

“But you can’t just take him. Spec-Ops are going to hunt Peterson down until he’s dead. If he disappears, they’re going to turn over every stone in the city until they find who’s responsible.”

“Precisely. Until him or his dead body is found, there is no hiding in City 57.”

“Still not sure how this concerns me. I nab him, and it will be no different if you take him instead.”

“That is why I have hired a shape-changer to morph a dead body into a likeness of Peterson. Spec-Ops won’t know the difference and neither will anyone else. I want you to catch him and make the switch during your heist of the ASA regional headquarters. He’ll doubtlessly be making an appearance.”

“I have a nullifier, but catching a teleporter is going to be tricky. Have you offered him to join the Index? His cooperation would make this a lot simpler.”

There was a pause on the phone. “I can’t tell him anything until Spec-Ops thinks he’s dead. I have dozens of other people I have to take responsibility for. It’s too risky otherwise.”

I sighed. “Hard way it is, then. Yeah, I might be able to make it work. No certainty though.”

“It’ll be a hundred million credits to your name if you do.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Want him that bad, eh?”

“Let’s just say you have a blank-check for Peterson. Whatever resources you need, I’ll do my best to provide.”

The phone-call clicked off, and I was left in that secluded alleyway. I pocketed my phone and glanced up at the blue sky, filtering through the steel and stone and trash. I chuckled at all of it. 

“Wish someone wanted me that badly,” I muttered to myself as I went invisible again. Nighthawk had a damn powerful guardian angel looking after him. If only the rest of us could be so lucky. 

Link to Chapter Fifteen