Getting superpowers is like a sugar high. You feel invincible. Unstoppable. You think your powers can solve all your problems, but it can’t. Maybe, you can leap tall buildings but you can’t leap over the trouble of paying your student loans. You can lift objects with your mind but it won’t help you bring back the dead. Powers, gadgets nor all the training in the world can’t solve who you are as a person.
Hero. Villain. Bad guy. Vigilante. Criminal.
We all start at the same point.
location: unknown
time: 10:45 PM
“ Goddammit!” He swore, shielding his face with a crooked elbow from a shower of electrical crackles that erupted out of the gauntlet he was currently repairing. The dropped screwdriver rolled on the ground underneath the bottom of his workbench. Searching for that later was going to be a pain in the ass.
He knew that the Kilowatt Kid would be a challenge but he’d never expected the kid to be capable of such an act. He winced at the still fresh memory of getting caught on fire. Being the WickerMan wasn’t his ideal image of an first encounter with the famed vigilante of Dakota City. His nerves still felt like they were cooking in a cauldron after what happened. The blackened, charred suit was currently sitting in the laundry to cleanse the stench of burnt polyesterized rubber. The wiring in his left gauntlet had somehow melted apart as well, ruining the mechanisms that allowed him to be the Shocker.
With a yell of frustration, he tore off the welding mask and threw it across the room. He waited for the satisfying sound of glass breaking, wood cracking, dented metal.
Only it didn’t.
The mask was held mid-air, smoky shadow intertwined around it. The single lamp in the room, responsible for providing the bulk of illumination, was snuffed out like a candle. The windows closed shut. The curtains billowed inwards as the shadows began darkening into a black fog that was swallowing whatever it touched.
“ Having a bad day, Shocker?”
Black rivers began pouring out of the shadows, forming a puddle in the middle of his floor. A featureless hand gushed out of the puddle, grabbing onto the edges between shadow and wood as something or someone hoisted themselves out. The black penumbra of darkness shifted and hardened into a form of a man with indistinguishable features, aside from a matching set of leather pants and vest. A pair of milky white pupiless eyes glared at him from the darkness that seem to choke the light out of his apartment room. Inwardly, it thought it was an overly dramatic entrance but he wouldn’t dare say that out loud to the Master of Shadows, Ebon.
“ I thought you said you’d handle it. Static. Dead. Nothing for me to worry about. ”
“ It’s a process, Ebon,” He picked up his welding mask off the floor. “ Breaking his arm was the first step. Next time, we meet. It’ll be our last.”
“ Well, Lightning Junior managed to molotov you even when you had him on the ropes.”
He turned around trembling, angrily staring at Ebon’s cold stare. The damned bastard was currently leaning back on his own couch, relaxing in his room like he’d owned every place he ever walked in.
“ Why don’t you do it yourself, then?”
Surprisingly, Ebon didn’t look like he took any offense to the question. The shadow meta merely tilted his head mockingly, looking at him like he was a child. He stood up and began to pace around the room, hands behind his back as he began recite a rehearsed speech.
“ I could, but ensuring the safety of our turf is the number one priority of my gang. I’ve learned from the gangs of the past that you don’t off someone with no planning. This requires grace. Precision. The will to see something through.” Ebon stared at him pointedly. “ There’s also the fact that killing a fellow Bang Baby would only make people question my position as leader. The Meta-Breed doesn’t kill fellow metahumans after all. We seek to promote the rights of metahumans within this city. As soon as that betrayer, Static, is out of the picture.”
He snorted. “ So, you’re making me take the fall? I thought we were partners.”
Suddenly, the shadows rushed out towards him, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up in the air. “ We’re not partners. You can’t be part of the Meta-Breed if you’re not a metahuman.”
Shadowy shackles gripped around his arms and legs as he was forced head-first into whatever dimension Ebon inhabited. It was a whirling dense penumbra that swallowed all white and so black that it could set shadows on shadows itself.All sensation was driven from his body as he rode through nothingness for a while, screams pouring out from his mouth but no sound to make of it. Eventually, he exited the dimension. A sign of relief escaped his lips, only to notice the faint whistling of wind in his ear.
He was falling.
“ HOLY SHHIIIIIIITTTTT -”
His legs and arms were flapping uselessly in the wind. He could hear his heart thumping, his brain calculating the time it would take for him to crash to the -
A portal formed in the midst of his free-fall, sending him crashing back into the sofa of his apartment. He groaned as Ebon stood over him, arms crossed.
“ See the difference? You’re missing the meta part, Buchinsky. Without your fancy tech, you’re nothing. Remember your place and do your job. You’ll get your pay fair and square at the end. If I don’t see the Kilowatt Kid’s head on a platter in the next two days,.....” Ebon forced Larry Buchinsky’s head to look into his emotionless gaze ”..... you better start watching your shadows closely.”
Ebon walked backwards, dissolving into the walls as his lamp flickered back to life once more. The room returned to the way it was originally. Spotless, albeit with a dazed Buchinsky resting with his limbs splayed on the couch. Crap. Ebon had issued a deadline. His schedule just became even more tighter than usual. Larry palmed his face, his heart still quick as a rabbit from the sky-diving that he was involuntarily forced into, courtesy of Ebon. He palmed his face as he took out a flip-phone from his pocket. Punching in the numbers, he waited for a certain somebody he knew to pick it up.
“ Hey, Robert? You there?”
“ Buchinsky, it’s good to hear from you. Have you managed to secure those donations yet?”
Larry frowned. “ About that….I might need an extension on that deadline….”
location: hemingway high
time: 9:30 AM
5 minutes more became Virgil’s only mantra as he struggled to survive the horrible enviroment of High School Chemistry. It’d somehow transformed over the course of 4 years from Virgil’s most favourite subject to his most feared subject. Learning the course was akin to sticking your hand into boiling lava. Even Mr Schumer couldn’t salvage the downright painful nature of that which was O-Chem. Virgil stared at the slow hands of the clock as it moved at a snail’s pace towards the end of the period. Texting with Richie who was currently stuck in the battlefield of applied physics was the only way to stave off boredom.
<ElectricBandit>: so, remind again, what’s the plan to find him?”
<ThirdG3AR>: i get an IMSI, intercept calls in locations that you last saw the shocker,, we track him, we bust him whilst he’s sleeping, hand him over to the police, easy as cake
<ElectricBandit>: sounds complicated
<ThirdG3AR>: you have a better plan?
<ThirdG3AR>: besides, you wanna brute force it? you told me your powers are still recovering
That stung. Virgil flexed his fingers, jolts dancing between the joints and digits. It was a drop in the water compared to what he could do before. Summoning the electric forcefield for the first-time had locked down his reserves. Whether it was an unforeseen effect of over-using his powers -
“ So, if we oxidise 3-methyl-pentan-2-ol with acidified potassium dichromate under reflux, what product would that give-”
- Or whether his system had been permanently damaged by the explosion
“Virgil?”
- he doubted that he could even fly anymore.
“ Virgil!” Mr Schumer had only raised his voice by a few steps in pitch but it was enough to knock the air of conversation out of him.
“ Wha-? Oh. 3-methyl-pentan-2-one.”
“ Correct, but do please try to concentrate more next time.” Schumer signed, white hairs running through his scratching fingers. He looked around the entire classroom, motioning towards the calendar with a single red cross. “ I know O-Chem’s a mighty big pill to swallow, people, but you’re gonna have to swallow it if you want to get through those mid-terms….”
Most of the class shuddered at that reminder and Virgil was a part of the majority. The mid-terms were due in two month’s time and virtually every student in the school was divided into two camps. Ones who treated it normally and the others who treated it like life and death, peering through every scrap of question and past papers in a competitive mania to be the best. Virgil was in the former. Being Static made the notion of exam weeks all the much more comforting, especially after the incident that had occured in the last few days. He tangled a finger around the shoulder sling that hung around his limp right arm.
“ Alright. Class over. Do Exercise 13-14 and complete the questions I gave to you for homework.”
There was a shuffling of chairs, half-hearted nods and goodbyes as the class strode out to lunch break. Virgil stood upwards, the sling cradling his right arm as he hung one of his backpack straps to make his way out of Mr Schumer’s classroom. He began to walk out of the classroom.
“ Virgil, could you stay back a while? I need to give you back your results for the one you did yesterday.” Schumer dusted off the chalkboard, hurriedly rubbing the eraser against the stenciled white chalk.
“ Right.”
“ Do you honestly find the sound of my voice that boring, Virgil?” Schumer opened a cupboard underneath his desk, rifling through folders and stacks of paper. He looked up towards Virgil, an arched eye raised towards him. His steady fingers flipped through the numerous sheets of paper in a blur, intermittently pausing at moments to examine before continuing forth in his search for Virgil’s paper. “ Even though you’re one of the best in the class, it shouldn’t be a signal for you to nod off and rest on your laurels.”
Pulling out a creased manila folder from the cupboard, Schumer laid it on his desk and began parcelling through the contents, muttering incessantly behind his breathe. He took a sip of his mug, Virgil tasting aromatic fumes of roasted coffee as it was lifted upwards towards Schumer’s mouth. “ How’s your arm?,” Schumer didn’t look at Virgil as he asked the question.
“ Fine. It was just an accident.” Virgil rubbed the bandaged cast unconsciously. “ Shouldn’t happen again in the future.”
“ With your dominant hand, no less.” Schumer signed in concern. “ Well, you have to count your lucky stars that you didn’t suffer more serious damage. I’ve seen people who had to be amputated. Grown men twice your age.”
“ So, you’re over the age of 34, sir?”
“ You may have been my student for the last five years, Virgil, but my age is something best left out of - “ Schumer’s smile disappeared as he suddenly pinched his nose. “ Ah, I left it in the teacher’s room. You can stay here. I’ll run and go get it.”
Schumer made his way out of the classroom, shutting the door with a light click. Virgil signed as he peered around Schumer’s classroom for a while. Unlike other teachers in Hemingway, Schumer made the effort of at least decorating his room. Project posters, diagrams and sets of old newspaper clippings on various scientific discoveries such as Hamilton’s innovations in xeno-mineral analysis or Stone’s synthesis of new cybernetic materials. He eventually spotted one of his old 8th grade projects that he did on electrochemistry. The water glue that held the entire ensemble together was beginning to fall apart and it looked garish and horrible now compared to how he held it up as an artistic achievement back in his early junior years. A positive and negative symbol were written side to side, guarding the word “ELECTROLYSIS”. The universal designations for charge.
Virgil stood around awkwardly, bag on the floor and waiting for Mr Schumer to return with his test report. There was a half-written document on Schumer’s monitor. He leaned forth towards it but held back the reins on his curiosity.
He shouldn’t.
Virgil stared at the clock. 3 minutes since he last left the classroom. Nobody to see him around…..
He really shouldn’t.
Virgil looked around, making sure the coast was clear as he stepped forth towards Schumer’s computer. Squinted eyes perused the contents of the half-baked Times New Roman scrawl.
Dear Principle
Please accept this letter as a formal notice of my resignation as Chemistry Teacher of Hemingway High School. I propose that my last day of employment will be 20th April. I would like to thank the staff of Hemingway High School for allowing me the opportunity to work in this position for the last 8 years. It has been an honour…………
In his shock, Virgil jostled one of the cupboards open with his feet as he bumped into the table. One of the bottom cupboards creaked open and a flash of yellow caught his eyes. Ignoring it, Virgil shook his head, stepping back away from Schumer’s desk and turned away from an illusion he had to believe. April 20th. 3 weeks away from now. Why? Why would he be typing it up? His mind fell back to the flash of yellow, beam of light shining at him from the window. He stepped back towards the desk and leaned down.
He pulled it an inch open.
Yellow fabric.
His fingers trembled with every small yank.
He could make out a soldering iron.
He pulled it out all the way.
A yellow rubberized mask. That of the Shocker.
His right arm began to ache once more.
Honing in on a single radio signal would have once been hard before the Big Bang. The sheer volume of electromagnetic signals. Dakota’s electrical budget was notoriously fickle with blackouts and power outages being considered a weekly event. The lack of traffic meant that there was only one moving radio signal per street. Virgil capitalised on that as soon as Mr Schumer - the Shocker left the school building, whistling and driving off in his Toyota Corolla. Watching the vehicle move in his senses was akin to watching a firefly in the dark, an interconnected web of radio and phone signals trailing behind its wake.
It infuriated him about how easily he could have taken down the Shocker if he was at full strength. He could have lifted his car in the air like a toy, shorted out the man’s engine or just simply stun him with a simple shock. A silver lining was that his dwindling reserves had regenerated enough to the point where he was able to surf, albeit at a slower past than he was used to. He poured an inkling of more power into the manhole, changing it from the speed of a bobbing lifeboat to that of a half-tank motorcycle. Dying bolts of faded blue dripped from the bottom of his surfboard as Static kept a patient pursuit on the Shocker.
Eventually, the signal stopped cold half a kilometer away, in a block of apartments that was on the outskirts of Utopia. He passed by rows upon rows of mansions, luxurious apartments and streets where the drains weren't inundated and filled with the shedding of trees. The city had poured generous amounts of coffers into sustaining Utopia as an high-end urban locale. It was located far away from Hemingway or any of the inner city districts, reserved for only those who could cough up enough money to escape the sight of the Black Hole.
Schemer's car was parked on the outside of a gated residential district. It wasn't that surprising that the Shocker would live here after all. He'd got out already. Virgil was currently looking at the concrete wall outside of the gated neighborhood, a plan forming in his mind. Knocking out all of the security cameras would be impossible if he couldn't find a outlet that connected to the main electricity supply. Although, generating static electricity to scale over wouldn't be that diffi -
" Don't appreciate you following me home. "
Virgil whipped his head around wildly in the afternoon sun, hands raised and hissing electric smoke, only to receive what felt like a stiff punch to the back. He hit the grassy lawn face-first, dirt in his nostrils, as he struggled to get up. A heel on his forehead planted his groaning face back into the ground, scrunching him against the earthen soil. His casted right arm complained to him under the pressure.
“ You know, when you’re a distinguished career criminal, you spot things that most people don’t usually notice,” A hand grasped him by his dread-locks, raising his face up from the dirt and forcing him to look at another. "Damn, these heroes are getting younger by the second. You don't even look a day past eighteen." Schumer's - The Shocker's calloused hand grasped him by the collar of his suit, pulling it up by the crooks of his fingers. Schumer tilted his head curiously as he stared at Virgil's face pensively, and then, looked down towards his broken arm. His left hand began to move toward Virgil's goggles, intending to pry them off his face. Virgil began squirming and bucking like a fish on dry land, stopping as something cold and metallic was pressed against the bottom of his chin, a hair breadth's away from a death threat.
" Stop squirming and stay put."
He was pointing the butt-end of a metal gauntlet under his chin warningly. It was constructed differently to the one he faced yesterday. It was old. Weathered. From another place in another century. A series of large ringed vacumn tubes were connected to a miniturised power pack on the back of the Shocker's shirt. The Shocker slowly unstrapped the googles off Virgil's face, throwing them to the side. Virgil trembled as he lowered his eyes towards the mishandled googles on the ground and then, back at Schumer's surprised face.
" Virgil?," Schumer took a step backwards, dropping Virgil onto the ground.
" What, Shocker?" Virgil spat out the words towards him. " You don't recognize me from two days ago when you broke my arm?"
" Two days ago?" Schumer's face suddenly became ashen as he turned his back to Virgil and starting muttering to himself, swaying side to side in a world of his own " He actually did it. I'd never thought he'd actually find out a way to use my equipment. Of all the stupid, asinine things I had to reject, just one more job - "
Wait. What? Virgil slowly stood up in confusion as Schumer continued to mutter in a quick furtive tone in front of him. Was this the same man that he'd faced? The man who'd broken his arm? The man who had his eye set on killing him. Stepping cautiously out towards him, Virgil jumped in front of Schumer's face, trying to get his attention.
" Hold up. Hold up. Who's he?"
" The man who stole my suit." Schumer whispered faintly. There was a pregnant pause of silence. He then glanced towards Virgil. " I know you're confused right now but I'll explain everything. I promise. "
Virgil just stayed stock, looking at Schumer as if he was a madman. He raised his hands upwards, veins glowing blue, towards Schumer.
Schumer signed and then, detached the gauntlet from his hand." I know you don't trust me, so, in return for finding out your secret identity, I'll suppose I'll return the favor."
The man Virgil once believed as a harmless chemistry teacher and a dangerous criminal gave a chuckle. " My name isn't Harry Schumer. My real name was Herman Schultz and I was the Shocker. The original Shocker."
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