Prologue
17 years ago
Peter Ferral absently watched the city zoom by the windows of the car as they made their way towards their destination. Beside him, his brother Wyatt continued to brood. “I still don’t understand why we had to get up at four in the morning to respond to an entirely ordinary breaking and entering call.” Wyatt stopped the car at a red light and put on the turn signal, even though the streets were completely empty at this hour. Peter smiled in spite of himself. His brother was such a boy scout. “Why couldn’t the police just handle this one? There’s no report of anything super-powered going on.” Peter chuckled at his brother’s sleepy voice. He knew that Wyatt loved the life of a superhero, no matter what he tried to convince himself, but he wasn’t always thrilled with the hours it often had them living. “We’re responding to the call, Wyatt, because it’s not an ordinary call. This one’s important.” Wyatt rolled his eyes. “The last time you said that, I ended up getting thirty-eight stitches and a good portion of Washington Square Park ended up as a crater.” He frowned. “Is this going to be one of those calls that ends with me in the hospital and you laughing at me while I’m getting stitched up? Because you can tell me if it is. I’d like to be prepared for it.” Peter chuckled again. His brother was so paranoid. “No, not quite.” …Well, not if he played his cards right anyway. If he played them wrong, they’d both die. But what were the odds of that happening? Twenty percent. Tops. Peter didn’t remember that happening though, and since he remembered everything which would ever happen to him, then it stood to reason that it wouldn’t happen. Peter pointed to a side street, leading into the parking lot of the large complex of buildings. “Ah, there’s where we’re going.” The area was lit with an eerie red glow, and a low bank of smoke hung over the scene. The fire had already started. Good. Wyatt hated waiting, and Peter hadn’t been looking forward to trying to keep his brother from simply leaving the scene before the perpetrator committed his crimes. Wyatt slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt. Peter opened his door and casually walked from the vehicle as Wyatt exited the car behind him, and crept silently through the darkness. Lord but that man took things too seriously. Peter was genuinely looking forward to a time when Wyatt would relax some. True, Peter would be dead by then, but Wyatt needed some fun in his life. He had made peace with his own destiny, and was honestly anticipating Wyatt’s future happiness. His brother deserved that, even if Peter wouldn’t be around to see it. The lot they were traveling through was huge, but Peter knew right where they were going. They soon found the source of the smoke and flames, as the main studio building of the KNNR television studio burned. Sitting cross-legged in front of the inferno was a dark figure, casually drinking what appeared to be an orange soda. He looked up at them as they approached, his red eyes filled with either mirth or mania. Probably both. “Hey guys.” The man pointed at the flames. “Come to watch the fun?” Peter recognized the man, even though this was the first time they’d ever met. The rather sooty, disreputable looking man would go on to become “The Cynic,” one of the more prolific members of the Consortium of Chaos super-villain group, and would eventually become one of its most semi-prolific and entirely reluctant heroes. The man looked exactly the same as he remembered him, but then again, the man always looked the same. He never seemed to age. He was a troubled and exasperating individual, but more importantly, one of the most dangerous people alive at the moment. Dealing with bored, unpredictable madmen with colossal powers was always a trial. Luckily, Peter’s own powers allowed him to predict what the other man would do… or at least, that’s what he remembered happening tonight anyway. If he was remembering this wrong, he and Wyatt would both be killed fairly quickly. Wyatt put his arms on his hips and glared down at the man. “Care to explain to me what’s going on here, sir?” The man pursed his lips in thought. “…Wait… wait, I know you, don’t I?” He snapped his fingers. “You’re that little teenaged asshole in the cape who’s always on the TV.” Peter nodded at his brother. “That’d be a good new codename for you, Wy.” Peter waved at the man. “Hi! I’m that other little teenaged asshole who’s occasionally on TV.” He shook his head. “But I don’t wear a cape; they’re stupid.” He gave him a jaunty wave. “Good to meet you. Again.” Wyatt glared at him, but then refocused on the man. “Did you start this fire?” The man snorted. “Hell no. The gasoline did. All I did was light the match, and the gas did the rest of the work.” The man looked at him like he was an idiot. “I don’t even know how to start a fire without a match.” “…Huh?” Wyatt squinted at him in confusion. His voice took on a calm tone, obviously realizing the man was a lunatic. “…Are you feeling okay?” “No.” The man decided after a moment. “No, as a matter-of-fact, I’m not feeling okay.” He pointed to the bottle in his hand. “I hate diet.” Not even Peter was sure if that was flippant sarcasm, or his honest answer. It was impossible to tell. Sarcasm and crazy were a dangerous mix when you wanted to make yourself understood. Wyatt cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, sir.” The man’s head very slowly turned to face them, as if coming to the realization that they could be a threat. “…Why?” His red eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re part of this, aren’t you?” His eyes began to glow. “Aren’t you!?!” He got to his feet. “And what? You think I’ll just let you take me in? That it!?!” He shook his head angrily. “You picked the WRONG fucking guy to try to strong-arm, Mr. Hero-Man!” The man prepared to strike out at them with his powers, but Peter took a step towards him. He shook his head, keeping his voice utterly calm. “You don’t want to do that, Steven.” The man stopped his preparations to kill them, and his vision returned to normal. “…I don’t?” “No.” “Why?” He sounded genuinely confused. “Because it’s what They want you to do.” Peter took a gamble on the mysterious and omnipresent ‘They,’ which seemed to confound the man’s every effort. …Or at least they did inside the man’s own twisted mind, anyway. The good part about dealing with the paranoid was that they were ironically rather easy to control. Since they saw everything as a conspiracy, all you had to do was get out in front of it. Guide their paranoia to where you wanted them to go. The other man looked hesitant, but interested. “…Really?” Peter tried to keep from smiling as he imagined himself kneeling down and whistling at the man as if calling a dog. ‘Here boy!’ His imaginary self was saying. ‘I got a nummy treat for you…” Peter nodded. “Oh, absolutely.” He gestured to their surroundings. “Think about it. Doesn’t this all seem a little too convenient? Us showing up here like this? Finding you?” His eyebrows rose. “It’s because ‘They’ wanted us to fight. Wanted you to kill us.” The man’s brow furrowed as he considered that. “Yeah… Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Peter smiled. “I thought you were.” “Wait… who wants him to kill us?” Wyatt leaned closer to him, whispering. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I have no idea.” Peter patted his brother’s arm. “Just trust me. I got this.” He stepped closer to the man. “So how about we do something that ‘They’ aren’t expecting. How about you just come with us, and that’ll really show them. It’ll throw their whole plan out of whack. They’ll never see it coming.” “…Okay.” The man shrugged and absently tossed the soda bottle into the blaze. “Got nothing else to do today anyway.” Peter smiled and turned back to Wyatt. “Wanna keep him company while I go call this in?” Wyatt eyed the man suspiciously, but Peter waved him off. “Oh, Steven’s not going to hurt anyone.” He grinned at the man. “Are you, Steven?” The man shook his head. “Probably not, no.” “’Probably’?” Wyatt repeated doubtfully. Peter chuckled, and strolled back to the car to call it in. Once his report was done, he turned back to watch his brother deal with their new friend. After several moments of observing the fun, he heard a noise behind him, and didn’t need to even turn around to know who it was. “Hello, Pro.” He said cheerily. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Prometheus all but materialized out of the shadows of the alley behind him. “I really don’t know why you’re always so dead set– no pun intended– on making sure that Cynic sticks around.” Pro shook his head. “He is utterly incapable of greatness. I have known just about every person you can name, and he ranks among the worst. Not even his own people want him.” “I like him.” Peter smiled. “So does Wyatt, and that’s good enough for me. Anyone who will fight for my brother is okay in my book.” He absently watched as Wyatt continued his vain efforts to get Steven to talk sense. “Besides, you know that it’s bigger than just him. We need him if we want to get her. They’re a package deal.” Pro made a face. “Oh, she’s as crazy as he is. Probably more.” He removed his straw boater hat and ran a hand through his wavy hair. “I still say we can do it without them.” “We’ve tried that.” He made an exaggerated ‘thinking’ face. “Remind me again, how’s that work out for us?” He looked down at his watch. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be at a police station in Indiana right now, Mr. ‘Assistant DA’?” “Yeah, yeah.” Pro pointed at him, his face serious. “This isn’t a game, Peter. I’m involving you in this because it involves you and...” He cut him off. “You can’t ‘involve’ someone in something which already involves them, because it already involved them. You have no control over whether they’re involved or not, because they simply are. Some things not even we can control.” “…but there are many other layers to what’s going on here. If it comes down to a choice…” “You’re really going to tell me about hard choices, Pro?” He interrupted again. “Really? You know that all of this means that I’ll die in fifteen years, two months and eight days, right? I’m sixteen years old, Pro. …But I’m still doing it. How’s that for a hard choice.” “My point is that if your friend over there doesn’t change his terrible behavior and characteristically insane way of doing things this time, we’re going to have to cut him loose. He’s a liability. The plan has enough troubles without adding him to the mix again.” “This coming from the man who wants to keep Multifarious involved in things?” He snorted. “Yeah, because things get so much simpler with that picture of mental sanity around.” Pro heaved a longsuffering sigh. “I just don’t understand what you’re doing. You’re changing things, and you’ve never done that before.” He pointed at Cynic. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: he is not the answer. He’s crazy, dangerous, and annoying. He can’t help us. He doesn’t know what’s going on even at the best of times.” “Luckily, the ‘best of times’ aren’t the times when we’ll most need him then, huh?” Pro’s face filled with condemnation. “I know what I’m doing.” Peter looked back at the man in question as he continued his impassioned tirade against public television. “All he needs is a chance, Pro. Something to believe in. Someone to help him stay grounded. If he’s got that, he’ll be unstoppable. You’re right: he’s not the answer. But he’s a piece of it. We all have a part to play in this little drama, and I want to help him play his, that’s all.” Pro made an unconvinced sound. “Right. Well, hopefully his ‘staying grounded’ won’t put everyone else into the ground this time.” He backed towards the alley again, disappearing into the darkness. “I’m warning you, he’s unstable.” Peter watched as the man in question continued to yell at Wyatt. He looked almost… lost. He could do great things if someone just gave him the chance. If someone could look past his crazy personality and aggravating behavior. “Guess we’ll just have to find something to stabilize him then. Something to give him balance.” Peter said to the empty shadows. “Something… awesome.” He couldn’t help but start to whistle on his way back to his brother. Things were working out just splendidly, no matter what Prometheus had to say on the matter. It was all going to plan. Exactly as he remembered. **** “So, what do you have to say for yourself?” The man currently known as “Steven O’Probrian” had been resting his head against the wall of the police station, but opened his eyes when the officer started speaking. “I’m a political prisoner.” “Are you now?” The officer sank into his chair. “Care to explain how burning down a TV station qualifies you for political protections?” “Free speech. I was making a statement about how talking poultry is perverting our nation’s youth.” Three hours ago, he had been arrested by some asshole teenage superheroes outside of the television station, watching the fucking place burn. His goal had been to kidnap the star of the ‘Farmer Frank’s Barnyard Friends’ children’s show. Sadly, the puppet in question wasn’t enough of a man or a rooster to show his face, so Steven was forced to take the only reasonable action: light the fucker up. Six gallons of gasoline and one match later, and Steven had been fairly pleased with the way things had turned out. True, it would have been better if he could have been sure that the puppet was dead, or if he had succeeded in unmasking its treachery to the world. …But, at least he had succeeded in destroying its foul roost. It’s ‘fowl’ roost. He-he-he. And besides, just because you could see something didn’t mean that it actually existed. Or vice versa, really. Steven could never really be sure of anything. He wasn’t entirely convinced that the man in front of him was actually a cop. He could be an actor hired by some secret government agency to simply pretend to be a cop in an effort to lull Steven into a false sense of security. Or all of this could be the result of some sort of alien race’s experiments, and he was actually in a lab on Neptune right now, talking to an alien scientist’s giant cop hand-puppet. Or he could be in a coma right now, and dreaming that he was talking to the cop. Hell, he was beginning to question whether the cop was even there or not. It was entirely possible that Steven was just sitting here entirely alone and talking to the wall. That had certainly happened before. Anything was possible in the world, even nothing. The officer leaned back in his chair. “So, if I’m understanding you, you burned down the local TV station because you didn’t like that stupid puppet show they air every morning?” “Right.” He nodded. “As you can see, it’s hard to get more political than that.” “…Are you some kinda lunatic?” “You know… that’s entirely possible. I was talking to a raccoon just the other day who said the exact same thing.” He admitted. “You aren’t the first person to say that to me, and I doubt you’ll be the last.” The officer picked up his newspaper, acting like he wasn’t paying an inordinate amount of attention to the conversation. Steven pegged him as the ‘no nonsense officer who puts on a show of disinterest to hide his gentle heart’ kind of guy. His respect for the man slid down another notch. He hated that kind of person. Just be honest with people, jackass! The officer started flipping through the file. “Okay, let’s see what we got here… Ten counts of theft…” “What you call ‘theft,’ I call ‘acquisition by capture.’” “…Blowing up the city’s water treatment plant…” “Fluoride is a mind-altering substance. Why am I the only one who sees that? It’s bad enough the government is putting LSD in beef, but fluoride is just terrible stuff. One shot, and you’re hooked. You know it’s the primary ingredient in meth, right?” “…Stealing all the balls from the ball-pit play area in the local ‘Baron Horatio Von FUNigan’s Pizzatorium and Game-ateria’ restaurant chain… one ball at a time…” The officer looked up at him. “Why would you do that?” “Because I couldn’t find a container big enough to carry them all away at once.” He answered seriously. “…Trying to break into the Australian embassy…” “Hey, ‘Free New Zealand,’ man!” He tried to raise his fist in protest, but was prevented by his handcuffs. “Aussie tyranny has got to stop!” The officer shook his head. “They’re separate countries. They have nothing to do with one another.” “Really?” His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You sure?” “Yes.” “…Oops.” He shrugged. “Well, guess I owe them an apology then.” “…Altering the Lincoln Memorial so that it showed your own picture…” The officer frowned. “How exactly did you re-carve it?” “Well, I re-carved it so that I was leaning forward out of the chair, you know.” He leaned forward in the folding chair to demonstrate. “…And then I wanted to really convey the dignity that comes with the site, so I posed it with my one hand extended forward, giving everyone the finger.” He nodded. “Much more powerful now. It’s reimagined to appeal to a whole new generation, like those new Star Trek films.” He smiled with pride. “School kids love it, and if I can do my part to bring history alive for them, then I’ve done my job.” The cop looked up from the paperwork in horror. “Why would you do something like that?” Cynic sighed. “The chick I was seeing at the time broke up with me there, and I was upset.” He paused. “…Well, not really ‘seeing’ as it was our first date… and not really a ‘date’ yet, as I hadn’t actually asked her out… and not really ‘yet’ as I wasn’t planning to, because she wasn’t my type and she was already married… and not really ‘broke up’ as she was just the woman who sold the hot dogs from a little cart out front… and not really ‘upset’ as the whole situation was pretty funny. But anyway, she just completely overreacted to something I said, and started yelling at me about something.” He rolled his eyes. “You know women, man. One second they’re giving you your change, the next second they’re trying to stab you with the hot dog tongs.” He laughed good-naturedly. “I think we’ve all had that happen to us, am I right?” The officer opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “…What did you say to her?” “Well, all I said was that…” “Wait! I don’t want to know.” The officer shook his head and flipped to the end of the file. “Well, I don’t see anything else on your record, so I don’t know where these people were allegedly complaining about you, but it wasn’t to us.” “Really?” Steven paused to consider that. “…Maybe they didn’t exist then.” The officer put his paper down. “Excuse me?” “Maybe the people who were complaining about me either didn’t exist, or simply ceased to exist.” “People don’t just wink out of existence, son.” “That’s just what they want you to think.” He leaned forward, his voice taking on a conspiratorial whisper. “Happens all the time.” The officer took a sip of his coffee. “So, your theory is that people have been calling you crazy for years, but now there is no record of it, because those people have been erased from history. Thus, your politically motivated attempted puppet assassination is the first instance of your being a nutcase?” “…Again, that’s entirely possible. They could be behind all of this. They could be pulling your strings right now, and you’d never know it. Hell, you might not even be here. You could just be a vision they’re projecting into my head to make me think I’m crazy.” The officer put his coffee down. “I’m not imaginary.” “But how can you be sure? Imaginary things don’t know they’re imaginary.” “Are you for real?” The man asked in disbelief. “I don’t know, that’s the point! I have no idea if I’m real or not, because I don’t know what ‘real’ even is.” “Do you want me to tell you what’s real, son?” He waved the booking sheet at him. “This is real.” “Oh sure, the figment of my imagination is the perfect person to tell me about reality.” The officer nodded solemnly. He called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of Steven. “Can I get someone over here from County to give this guy a psych eval, please?” “But how do you even know there IS a County? What if you’re just talking to yourself when you pick up the phone?” His eyebrows went up meaningfully. “How would you even know? You wouldn’t. Reality is just what your brain tells you that you’re experiencing, but what if your brain is wrong? Or, more importantly, what if your brain is the only one that’s right? Sanity is a democratic concept; if more people see one thing than the other, then those that agree are ‘sane’ and those that don’t are deemed ‘insane.’ See? It’s all arbitrary. Everything you’ve ever seen. It’s all just inside your own head. Just light and shadows reflecting on the wall of the cave in your mind.” The officer gave him a humoring smile. “Good point. You think that one through. I’m just going to wait for the nice people in the white lab coats to come and talk to you about it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Psycho.” Steven scooted forward in the chair. “I am NOT insane, okay? I know people tell me that a lot, but I just have a slightly different outlook on the world and sometimes that…” A female officer walked by the desk he was handcuffed to and glanced down at him. “…Who are you talking to?” Steven’s gaze slowly turned back to the chair where the officer he was speaking to was sitting. A smile crossed his face. “I knew you weren’t here!” He cried in triumph. “TOLD YOU that you weren’t real! Cops don’t HAVE antlers!” The second officer backed slowly away, convinced Steven was crazy for some reason. The officer he’d been speaking to smiled a wide knowing grin before vanishing. “Told you you were a psycho.” Damn. His stupid crazy brain had a point. It was a bad sign that he was seeing things. He usually didn’t go that far. He was… slipping. He slouched back in his chair, feeling depressed. How had things gotten so bad? …Or maybe his mind was just finally clearing. Maybe seeing imaginary people was perfectly normal, because they weren’t imaginary. Maybe the other officer was the imaginary one. Maybe he was simply imagining things which were telling him the other things he was imagining were imaginary. Made perfect sense. …Or it was a sign of his looming mental break. In other words, it was just another day in his life; where every decision was completely rational and entirely insane. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to keep it together. If he let his mind wander then… A noise distracted him and he opened his eyes to see that someone had taken a mug of coffee from the desk in front of him. Steven squinted down at the newspaper that the mug had been sitting on, and the ad which was circled by the coffee ring it left behind: “Currently calling for costumed criminals to combine with compatible companions. Call Commodore Cruel and the Consortium of Chaos at 555-EVIL (3845)!” He pursed his lips in thought. Someone actually placed an ad for a super-villain group in a newspaper? That was so fucking crazy! Steven just had to respect that kind of mania. He wasn’t much of a joiner, but any group which was that stupid was sure to be on the legit. …Or maybe someone had just deliberately drawn Steven’s attention to the ad because it was all some kind of larger plot or scheme? Yes. That was the far more likely option. Hmmm… But either way, he needed to see how far this conspiracy went. If someone was arranging all of this in order to get him to join that super-villain group, then they must want him there pretty bad… And if in the HIGHLY unlikely event that it wasn’t the result of a conspiracy, then having some other lunatics around would at least allow him to gauge his own lunacy. If he saw an apple and all the other lunatics saw an orange, then he’d know that it was an apple because crazy people couldn’t be trusted. They were crazy and most likely hallucinating. But if they all saw an apple, then he’d know that it was the rest of the world that was crazy. …Plus, he was bored being out on his own. If that group was looking for a few villainous men, then what did it hurt to apply? Might be fun. And having some backup to take down that fucking puppet would always be good. “Officer?” He glanced over his shoulder at the possibly imaginary female officer. “I’m ready to make my one phone call now.”
