Night Allies
Scott Harper

It's the middle of the night and I'm perched up high on a building ledge, watchin' the city, smellin' its exhausts, hearin' its people, gaugin' its rhythms. I've been busy recently with the current heat wave. People stay up later at night, drink more, argue more. They do things in the dark they would be afraid to during the day. I've racked up some big collars recently - two bank heists broken up, busted a few liquor store robberies, even done some damage to the flow of cocaine from Colombia to the local Mexican Mafia. I'm startin' to get some attention from the local Heroes Guild. They even sent one of their heavy hitters, Two Ton Tom, to check out one of my capers. Not bad for someone who still lives at home with mom and never graduated from high school.

I don't have a super name yet (still workin' on that), but I do have powers. I used to volunteer with the local fire department. One night we went to a big chemical blaze at a government-contracted research laboratory down in the central city area. A big explosion doused me with some liquid experimental agent that to this day nobody in the company wants to talk about (though they did eventually write me a really nice check). The doctors told me I was perfectly normal after the accident, but I would beg to differ. A couple of days after I was released from the hospital I was combing my hair in front of a mirror when I just sorta' phased out, goin' completely invisible after a few seconds. I freaked out and started screamin', and suddenly I was visible again. With time I learned that what was happening to me was more complex than what happened to the poor guy in those old Claude Rains movies. That toxic bath had given me the ability to control the density of my molecules. See, when I lose substance, things can just pass through me. Conversely, with some concentration I can increase my density. It's funny, I actually lose a few of the precious seventy inches in height I have, but I gain weight and strength. I've tested myself; on a good day, I can push a car over like a kid's tricycle.

I'm usin' some free time to stitch up some tears in my costume. Luckily for me, when I fade out, whatever clothing I have on goes with me as well. Still, cloth is cloth. Usually I have my sister take care of such knittin' matters, but she's studying for a college exam and can't be bothered. She's been pretty cool about the whole superhero thing, not tellin' mom and promising to keep the whole deal a secret.

My costume is green with a yellow cape. It's basically an homage to an old comic book hero who, like me, could manipulate his mass. This guy had a tough life, dealing with whether or not he was human or synthezoid, arguing with his witch wife, in the end getting torn apart by a female green behemoth. I see myself kinda in the same light, a misunderstood underdog fightin' for his piece of the pie. Ok, maybe we really don't have too much in common, but a cool character nonetheless.

I hear some ruckus goin' on down below on the street near an alley entrance. Two tattooed gangster cholos, probably parolees, are messin' with a fine looking Latina. She's tall and built, with long flowing dark hair, dressed in professional attire. I've seen it too many times before - a business lady stays too late on the job and gets harassed going home. Well, not on my watch.

One of the gangsters has the lady restrained, hands held behind her back, while the other is playing games with a little knife he has. He cuts off her purse from her shoulder, then holds the blade to her throat. Got to hand it to the lady, she doesn't seem scared, she's not screamin'. I plan to keep it that way. I phase out and drift down to the ground. You should see the looks on the perps' faces when I solidify right in between 'em. I take on some decent density and knock the knife from the first twerp's hand, breaking his wrist. He doesn't have time to scream as I quickly backhand his jaw, spinning him around like a human top. He falls and doesn't get up.

I turn around and prepare to deal with the other gangster when I hear a scream. The weird part is the scream isn't coming from the female, but from the gangster. I quickly take note that the lady is free. Like me, she's looking at the source of the scream. The gangster is bent over nearly in half, held in the iron embrace of some alarmingly pale Caucasian dude in black slacks and a black leather duster. The guy has his head buried in the gangster's neck and is making some odd sucking sounds. The gangster's eyes are glazed over, his mouth slack, spittle dribbling down his chin.

Now, I've got no love for gangsters, don't get me wrong, but I can't just let this guy get killed. It's in the hero code somewhere, I think. I hustle over, taking on greater mass as I approach, crackin' the concrete with my feet, and place a heavy hand on the white guy's shoulder. Even through my gloves and his clothing I feel the arctic chill of his skin. Something's definitely abnormal here.

"Enough, buddy, this guy's had it!" I yell authoritatively. Hopefully I won't have to hurt this dude.

I nearly lose it when the white guy's head pulls away snakelike from the gangster's neck, leaving behind a bloody ruin. The newcomer's mouth is coated thick with the perp's blood, like he was drinking it directly from the carotid. I can't help but remember those old Christopher Lee movies I used to watch as a kid when I see the fang teeth and blood-red irises this guy has. Even his ears are pointed. And he is definitely not happy with me.

The vampire (for lack of a better term) drops the now dead gangster and whacks me good with a quick backhand. In my current state I shouldn't even have felt it. I mean, I've been hit by shotgun rounds and stood my ground, even been knocked through a brick wall or two. But this guy is ungodly strong. I stagger back, blood bubbling from a gap in my mouth where two teeth used to be. And then he's on me like a panther, grabbin' me up by the arms like a toy, the power of his grip nearly breaking my bones.

I need time to think and regroup. This guy is just too powerful. Discretion being the better part of valor, I decide to try to phase out, hopefully not for too long as I can't leave the Latina undefended. Unfortunately, the guy pins me with the glare of his blazin' red eyes. I can't move, can't hardly think, let alone alter my mass. The vampire opens wide his mouth, lookin' to make me Happy Meal number two, twin fang teeth glistenin' in the moonlight like lethal daggers.

I'm preparin' to meet my maker when the lady comes to my rescue, pulling the vampire off me. Don't know how she does it, but I'm not in a position to complain. She talks to the vampire like she knows him.

"No, Justin, he was trying to help me. Don't hurt him," she coos softly in his ear. It appears to have an effect. As I slump to the concrete like a discarded piece of human flotsam, the vampire seems to mellow. His fang teeth recede, while his eyes go from hell-red to haunting-black. The ears become rounded and less elfin. I brace myself on my elbows, tryin' to sit up. It's not easy, with my arms nearly fractured and my brain fizzled by his mind fry.

The now calmer vampire walks over to me, lifts me gently to my feet, and sits me down on some nearby concrete stairs. He looks at me a little sheepishly, like he's almost embarrassed.

"My apologies, friend. I fear I have misinterpreted your actions. I was alarmed for Juanita's safety and overreacted. She is very important to me, as you can imagine."

Actually I have no idea what he's talkin' about, but obviously he and the woman are somehow involved. The vamp continues.

"With my… condition, it's easy to lose control. I sometimes forget myself. I am… in your debt."

I have no breath left for words as he hustles the lady quickly away, his jacket billowing out behind him like a dark cape.

* * *

A few weeks pass by and my encounter with the vamp and his lovely friend Juanita is nearly forgotten. For all the world knows, I saved some young lady from assault and possibly much worse that night, case closed. Even the coroner doesn't say much about the throat of the munched-on gangster. Guess he's seen it before (not really a very good sign, if you think about it). Word about my exploits gets around to the Heroes Guild and before you know it, I'm an active member. My first night as a full-fledged superhero I get teamed up with Two Ton Tom, who'll act as my training officer. Tom isn't very intimidating, at least at first glance, appearing to be no more than a severely obese individual. His skin, however, has been made extremely pliable and resistant to injury due to genetic manipulation and surgical enhancements. Tom can absorb vast amounts of punishment, and possesses enough superhuman strength to dish some out as well. He's been an active member of the Guild for over five years.

Seems the Heroes Guild participates in the Parahuman Network, a type of national dispatch system for superheroes. An intake service takes in phone calls, checks the status of their superhero personnel, whether or not they are available and how close they are to the disturbance, and then dispatches those members they see fit. It's kinda' like bein' back with the fire department, waitin' for dispatch to sling us a call for service.

We get sent early one evening Code M (Code Metahuman) to a robbery in progress at a downtown bank. Seems Zeus Ex Machina, a supervillain who encases himself in a cobalt alloy, chemically-powered armor, is a little short on cash and has decided to make a withdrawal with other peoples' money. By the time we get to the scene, Zeus has leveled the local police and bank security guards and is prying the bank's doors open like a banana peel. I phase out and drift down from the opening in the Guild's specially designed military air transport (basically a no-frills A400M aircraft). Tom lets gravity take over and plummets down like a fat missile toward Zeus. Unfortunately for Tom, Zeus has upgraded his capabilities and senses Tom's approach. The villain turns his helmet toward Tom and unleashes an incredibly bright and powerful deuterium fluoride laser blast from his visor. Tom, despite all his prowess, is obliterated in seconds, causing huge burning sections of his flabby body to fall into the street and through many parked cars. Gas tanks explode, and before you know it the local area is an inferno.

I try not to let Tom's death distract me. Using the smoke from the fire as cover, I go solid next to Zeus, increasing my mass to its highest level, and unload on him. Four, five, then six good blows have him staggerin' back, even scoring his armor. My fists scream from the trauma of beating on unyielding cobalt alloy, but I think of Tom and channel the pain into purpose. I try a front pump kick to his chest, hoping to knock him over on his back like a turtle. Bad move.

Zeus grabs my foot with surprising speed, whips me up high in the air over his head, and flattens me into the pavement like a pancake, breaking and spider-webbing it. I look up groggily in time to see a huge size twenty gray cobalt boot rocketin' towards my head. I barely manage to get my hands up in time to block it, but Zeus still has the weight and leverage advantage. It's only a matter of time 'til he squishes my head like a grapefruit. I consider phasing out, but doubt I can do it quick enough to avoid essentially being decapitated. I push with all my strength against the boot, my panicked fingers actually carving grooves in the alloy, but make no real progress.

I'm pretty much at the end of my rope when Zeus is literally hoisted into the air off of me. Not really sure how that is possible, as in his full battle regalia Zeus weighs more than Tom ever did. I hear very human shrieks of pain coming from within Zeus' helmet. Long, pale, taloned fingers are dug into opposite sides of the helmet. I hear the shriek of rending metal, the hiss of compressed air being released, bolts and hinges shattering with frightening ease. Very slowly, and very painfully, someone is ripping the armored man's helmet off. Inside that fearsome armor exterior is a very human, very vulnerable, very terrified villain.

I note quickly that Zeus is actually a geeky lookin' frail old man with most of his hair gone and large brown age spots. Then I see that my vampire friend from the other night is behind the impromptu hat removal. The vampire is in full battle mode now, teeth extended, eyes red, ears pointed. He buries those fangs into Zeus' exposed neck, sending blood and flesh flying. Zeus' eyes roll up in his head and glaze over. He moans pitifully before his lungs run out of air and his body runs out of blood.

When he's done, the vampire (Justin, as I recall), hoists the huge armored man up over his head like a child's plaything and tosses him into the raging inferno started by Tom's immolation. With the helmet off, Zeus' body will be reduced to ashes, just like Tom. Not sure if it's a good idea to mix flames with all the chemicals that powered Zeus' suit, but I'm not in much of a position to argue.

Justin assumes a calmer demeanor with me. I stand and address him. "We have to stop meeting like this."

The vamp, despite the carnage around him, is dressed immaculately, his clothing unmarred by the fire, every last perfect hair on his head still in place. He smiles mischievously, eyes sparkling animal-like in the ambient lighting. "You looked like you could use some help. As I have stated before, I am eternally in your debt. I was delayed in assisting Juanita that night by the lateness of the sunset. Had you not been there… I shudder to think of the consequences."

I may sound like a sap (ok, I admit it, I'm a sap), but Justin's words give me some minimal comfort. Maybe there's hope for the world after all if even a brutal, hellish creature like this vampire can care so deeply for a single human being. Caught up in the moment, I start a recruitment angle on the guy. Not sure why, really. Every superhero code I've ever read states that you're not supposed to kill the villain, except under extreme circumstances. I kinda' doubt this guy would be willin' to follow the rules. To me it looks like he's been killin' folks for a long time.

"This city could use someone like you." It comes out as corny as it reads, but hey, in the hero biz, cliché is a legitimate part of the trade. It's passed on from one generation down to the next almost like a secret code. I'm sure that, if Tom had been able to hang around, he would have fed me all sorts of similar silly one-liners.

Justin chuckles, his smile revealing brilliantly white, un-fanged teeth. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, my friend, I must leave that sort of thing to you and your colleagues. I play for keeps, as they say. My curse is not one to be toyed with. There are times and places when it can be controlled, even channeled into certain benevolent acts. At heart, however, I'm a killer, a beast. Were I to become wounded, I would become unpredictable, seeking to heal myself with the closest available source of blood, friend or foe. And, as you have seen, I'm not particularly interested in the well-being of the enemy. Alive, maimed, dead, it's all the same to me. I'm not really a team player. Thanks for the offer, though. I appreciate the consideration. Deep down, there's a part of me - a part of who I used to be - that would like to say yes. Logic and experience, however, dictate otherwise. Now, I have Juanita to attend to."

He pivots and is gone, his duster kickin' up quickly in the smoky haze before disappearin', leaving me to pick up the pieces.

* * *

After a few short weeks, I get my own trainee, some newbie who can fly and levitate things. Like me, he doesn't have a super name yet. We just call him Skip for now. After Tom's death, I've been on a kinda' vendetta, hittin' the villains hard. We rack up a huge amount of busts in just a few months, take down some major supervillains in the process. I spend a lot of time studyin' the opposition, readin' their history, watchin' tapes of 'em in action. My colleagues begin to wonder at the way I work now, highly intense, throwin' caution to the wind, taking huge risks. They don't know what I know.

At night I see him from time to time, watchin' from afar as Skip and I go into action. Sometimes he's a huge bat soarin' overhead, other times a wolf dartin' by, or an incandescent mist settled low to the ground. I take risks now because I know I have insurance. That night all those months ago when I helped out his girlfriend, I made an ally for life. Now these supervillains don't know what they're up against. If I don't act quickly, take them out decisively, then my vampire friend might get nervous about my safety and eat them. Literally. That's a heavy burden I have to bear for right now. Maybe some day I'll figure out a better solution.

Some people say they have guardian angels watchin' over them. I believe them. In fact, I have one of my own.

Only he's a dark angel. And he doesn't play nice.