Capes 'Verse: A Really Long Introduction to Almost Everything (1/3)
You remember those characters from the Mutant 'Verse? This is them, using their powers for good. Costumed heroes. Good luck to them and the people they want to protect.
Mal has been working with Psyon for six months before it occurred to him that they had never met out of costume, much less talked about their secret identities. Their other lives had never come up, not even the one time Psyon had been bleeding out and the blue-haired Shaman had been on an another, equally dire case. Mal quells those thoughts; Psyon can read his mind without even consciously trying, and he really doesn’t need the memory of Mal’s panic and overwhelming fear when they’re sitting on the edge of a roof, thirty stories above the ground. Granted, Mal is well-suited to saving Psyon from death by falling and Psyon’s own telekinesis should keep him from dying horribly (or at least immediately) but a repeat of their first meeting is a bad idea.
“You’re thinking loud enough that Mage Hand could hear you,” Psyon says mildly. His voice is only slightly muffled by the porcelain mask covering his nose and the entire lower half of his face. Up until two months ago, it had been a single seamless piece of porcelain covering his whole face, without even eyeholes because Psyon is that good. Then Manic Game had taken a bat to Psyon’s face (and Mal had taken serious enough offense that it had taken fast talking from Psyon and Kage and finally a display of superior firepower from Ethuil to keep Mal from killing the man) and Psyon had not bothered getting another mask. “And his telepathy is even worse than Pythia’s.”
Mal grins; Oliver hates the codename Eth had given him, but it’s accurate and a damn sight more informative than Psyon’s or Mal’s own Spectre. Mal admits his name isn’t quite accurate (it had almost been Glorified Mass Transport, but Kage had very quickly ended that one), but then neither are Kage and Eth’s (Sophro and Lockpick, respectively) and seriously. Mage Hand. “Mage Hand doesn’t want to hear what I have to say,” he answers instead. “What makes you think he’d even bother trying to poke at my thoughts?”
Psyon just raises an eyebrow, but Mal grins until Psyon looks away, muttering about how juvenile his partner is and probably smiling in spite of himself. Mal looks back over the city. There was some kind of disturbance on the west end, but Psyon had assured him Super-Smash Guy and Libra had things well in hand, so they’re just chilling for now. Mal pulls at his domino mask, wincing a little when the gum holding it in place does its job a little too well, but it’s mid-August and almost too hot to bother with a mask. Sweat keeps getting in his eyes and the mask makes it hard to wipe it away. “What were you thinking about?” Psyon asks suddenly. He glances at Mal and away again when he sees the startled look on Mal’s face. “You don’t have to tell me; I’m being nosy-”
“No, it’s okay,” Mal assures him. “I just figured you knew already, what with the mind reading and all.”
Psyon sighs. “I don’t read your mind, Spectre. Not unless you ask me to. I’ll never look without consent.”
That’s a little heartwarming. When Mage Hand had been the villain Puppeteer, he’d done a damn sight more than just read Mal’s mind and while Mal doesn’t have near the problem with psychic metas that Super-Smash Guy has, he’s been leery of any psychic who isn’t his sister or partner ever since. Mage Hand’s getting better about everything but still. It’s nice to know Psyon has some sense of morality. Mal watches the traffic below. “I was just thinking that we’ve worked together for a while and you’ve never once asked about who I am when I’m not Spectre.”
“You never ask who I am when I’m not Psyon,” comes the reply.
Mal shrugs. “I figure it’s your business. And I’ve seen clippings about the capes who got found out by going to a fellow cape’s funeral.”
“And you’re wondering why I haven’t asked…why?”
Another shrug. “Not everyone has the same view. I know Super-Smash and Libra know each other in their other lives. Pythia wouldn’t even bother with a codename if it wasn’t for that mess with the Puppeteer.”
Psyon watches the flow of traffic and Mal waits. “You make a good point,” he concedes. “About the danger. I was just worried you and I might not get along if we knew each other in our other lives.”
“Are you that different out of the mask?” Mal can’t help but ask.
Psyon tilts his head slightly. “Don’t tell me you’re exactly the same in both lives.”
Mal opens his mouth to say yes, he is, as a matter of fact, but then he remembers Spectre has to hold back from being truly hurtful and that Malice Donovan never did. “Conceded.”
“C’mon.” Psyon stands and makes a vague motion for Mal to do the same. “We might be having trouble at First National soon.”
Mal does, securing his mask again. Ah, the call of duty. “Ever wonder why so many banks have that name?”
“No.”
Mal thinks he’s full of crap, and does not hesitate to say so even when they end up having to subdue a half-dozen would-be burglars. Psyon’s eyes crinkle at the edges when Mal calls him out, so Mal knows he’s smiling and they’re still okay.
~~
Mal drops his head on his desk and wishes school started a couple hours later, or that the police would stop questioning him as to whether he was really a crime-fighter or just some dumb kid in a mask (both, if you ask his father). He’s dead tired and maybe Dad had been right when he told Mal to cut back on his patrolling, but crime doesn’t stop because the new generation of capes and cowls needs to sleep or study or have lives outside of the mask. Maybe the teacher will have mercy or his classmates will leave him alone- “Out partying again, Malice?”
“Jealousy is an ugly look on you, Evan,” Mal snarls back and turns his head to glare at the other teen. Mal generally gets along with his classmates, for definitions of ‘getting along’ including intimidation, manipulation, and coercion. Sure, there are people he talks to without having to do any of that, but those are few and far between.
Evan Horatio refuses to be cowed in the slightest by Mal’s attitude or to give him much slack on anything, and as such they never do get along. “Oh yes,” Evan sneers. “Because dying of alcohol poisoning before my eighteenth birthday is my greatest aspiration.”
Mal flinches a little; Mage Hand is a recovering alcoholic and Mal never did disassociate drinking from mind control. Pythia’s interference had been the only reason Mage Hand had not died because of a combination of half the new capes and a truly toxic blood-alcohol level. He had been strong enough that even Kage had been hard-pressed to match him in power. Mal offers a mocking chuckle and is relieved that he sounds normal. “Only lightweights and children would have that problem after a few glasses.”
“Oh, so ‘a few’ has been redefined, has it?” Evan sneers. “You smell like a distillery.”
Mal had helped his dad stop thieves at a beer company just before dawn and had been knocked into a tub of the stuff before they had finished, and there just hadn’t been enough time to get a proper shower. Mal clenches his hands into fists and wishes he hadn’t promised Ethuil to stop starting fistfights in school. Stupid binding promises. He opens his mouth-
A hand drops onto his shoulder and Justice Avery looks down at him. “We got a problem here?” he drawls. Justice manages to visit the high school on occasion without seeming like the skeevy type who never leaves. It helps that he has driving Brandon as an excuse, and that he’s looking into teaching. Justice glances at Evan, who doesn’t quite flinch, but backs down. “Well?”
“Nah,” Mal says and forces his hands to uncurl. “Nah, we’re good.”
~~
Being a cape is a damn sight easier than being a high school student, Mal thinks as he trudges home alongside his sisters. If someone’s being a pain in the ass, it’s usually because they’re the villain of the week, and Mal can teleport that person to Siberia and be completely justified in his actions. Doing that to fellow students is frowned upon, unfortunately. But it would feel so good.
“You remember when you didn’t even want to use your power?” Kage asks suddenly.
Well. That’s not out of left field at all. “Yeah,” Mal replies. It’s kind of hard to forget having to ‘port all over the country and fight others like them to find their dad. “It was until two years ago. Why?”
“And you’re now the one of us who uses their power the most,” Kage continues.
Mal makes a ‘move along’ motion with his hand. There could be people listening in, civilian or cape. “Okay?”
“She means,” Ethuil intervenes because sometimes Kage is too considerate of others’ feelings and they often tell Mal he’s a bit of an idiot. She stops and puts a hand on Mal’s chest to make him stop too. “Which one is really your mask, Mal? The student or the Spectre?”
He doesn’t know how to answer. So he doesn’t.
~~
“You ever wonder if it’s your other life that’s the mask, and not the other way around?” Mal asks Libra one evening a couple weeks later. He likes working with Libra almost as much as he likes working with Psyon. The older cape is easygoing and as fair as his name. Trouble is Psyon and Super-Smash working together is a recipe for disaster, Libra and Super-Smash are as much a package deal as Spectre and Psyon, so this doesn’t happen too often.
Libra hefts one of the gang members off the ground and over into the pile of people on the sidewalk. Mal moves to help so Libra can fix the street lamps. “Sure,” Libra answers and the metal pole ripples in his hands. “Once in a blue moon I compare the two. I like to make sure I’m still being true to myself, and the reasons I started fighting in the first place.”
“Hm.”
Libra gives him a sideways glance. “Somethin’ you wanna say, Specs?”
Just then a wall shatters next to them and Super-Smash hops up from the mess with barely a scratch on him. “Guy’s got a wrecking ball,” he explains casually before diving back into the hole he made.
Mal teleports to Psyon’s side and teleports again to get him out from under the rubble. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” Psyon grits out and runs a hand through his hair to get the debris out. His hand comes away bloody. Mal hadn’t even noticed the blood at first, between the night and Psyon’s dark hair. Brown eyes meet Mal’s gold when Mal checks the injury for himself. “He’s got some sort of helmet that blocks anything psychic from hitting him. Can’t even sense him with it on.”
“Damn shame,” Libra muses. “And it’s dark enough Smash can’t see him.”
A howl of outrage and suddenly a metal helmet is in Libra’s hands. “That helmet?” Mal can’t help but ask the metal-kinetic. Psyon glares at him. “All right, fine. Back to work-”
“Found you!” Super-Smash crows before Mal and Psyon can rejoin the fight. The ground shakes with the impact of a body hitting the ground a little too hard. “Um, oops?”
Mal chuckles and walks toward the building to make sure the last villain isn’t dead. “You know, Smash, you sound an awful lot like a guy I know.”
Super-Smash Guy laughs. “Given how big the damn city is, what are the odds?”
~~
Mal does a double-take when Evan goes past him without so much as a waspish greeting. The shorter teen looks like hell and Mal opens his mouth to say so, but Evan just looks at him and says, “Not today, Malice.”
Mal has been feeling out of sorts enough lately to let Evan have his way. He glances over at the other teen sometimes during the class and thinks he sees bruises peeking out from under his uniform sleeve. Professor Urahara has a vaguely irritated look on his face, so Mal tries his best to pay attention. His mind keeps wandering to Evan, and what happened. Evan has never once backed down from a fight with Mal, or anyone else. Mal wonders who Evan could have fought that he isn’t even angry about it, not even willing to take it out on Mal as they usually do.
Evan leaves the classroom the second the bell rings for the change of classes, and Mal follows before Professor Urahara can keep him after and rake him over the coals for being inattentive. Mal catches up to Evan, wraps a hand around his arm above his elbow and pulls him into a little-used stairwell. “Malice, what the hell,” Evan snaps. He yanks his arm back. “If you wanted to be a petty-”
“What happened to you?” Mal cuts him off.
Evan does a double-take, which would be amusing if not for the fact that he looks exhausted and moves like he’s hurting. “All right, who are you and what have you done with Malice Donovan, because last I checked we had this entire hating thing going on.”
Mal opens his mouth to reply with sarcasm, but nothing comes to mind. He leans against the railing. “Maybe I’m tired of who I’ve been.”
Evan scoffs. “Right. You’re being nice because you’re bored.”
“Sure,” Mal answers easily, because he doesn’t expect Evan to believe him. Mal doesn’t believe himself lately. Dad’s pissed because he spends more time as Spectre than studying. Hell, Mal spends more time as Spectre than Dad ever did as Loophole, even at the height of his career. Another week of this, Mal thinks, and Kage really will contact Mom and tell her to do something about him. “Let’s go with that for now. What happened? You look like you got into a fight with a wall and lost.”
Evan gives him a self-deprecating smile and says, “Maybe I did.”
“Evan, the wall would have had to hit you pretty damn hard to do this.” Mal steps forward and touches Evan’s hair. He had noticed it during class, but it had been hard to tell since Evan’s hair is roughly the color of a bar of milk chocolate. Up close, Mal can see the rust-colored patches. “You were bleeding an awful lot, looks like. Why didn’t you get this checked out?”
“It’s not important,” Evan insists, but makes no move to push Mal away. “Seriously, leave it alone.”
Mal looks down to tell Evan exactly where he can stick that idea, but his voice dies in his throat when his eyes meet Evan’s. ‘He’s been right in front of me this entire time and I never knew,’ Mal thinks numbly because holy crap Evan hadn’t been lying about getting in a fight with a wall. ‘Eth will call me a moron and she’ll be right because I never knew.’
“Malice? Dude, you’re starting to freak me out,” Evan says uncertainly and inches backward.
Mal stumbles back. “I have to go,” he croaks and barely manages to get out of sight before teleporting away. His nemesis is also his partner. It sounds like a crappy novel. A crappy novel entitled The Crappy Chronicles, or Malice Donovan’s Life. Holy crap.
~~
To Part 2