NEW WARRIORS written by Zak Chambers
Issue #1: Virtue & Vice; Part One – "Out of the Spotlight"
The blazing lights overhead built up a decent amount of sweat upon his brow, forcing him to squint. His helmet was removed but the stress of the situation more than made up for the missing weight. He felt like it was his first day at school and he had walked into class late, not to mention totally naked. A hundred people stared him down curiously like he was on display for the world to see. In a way he was and he had only himself to blame.
"So how would you describe your work as a superhero?"
He looked at the woman who had asked the question. The microphone in her hand, which had been pointed at her own mouth moments before, was now stabbing into his own face like a deadly tool of humiliation. He tried to gulp but the saliva had long since dried up in his throat. He opened his mouth and intended to answer with one of his prepared statements but he quickly realized that his mind had gone totally blank.
"Well, uh, Sharon, I guess you could say it's not, um, as glamorous as it seems on TV," he said. He immediately hated the words that had slipped out of his lips but decided to just go with it. "It's a thankless job I guess. But that's okay. We don't get into this for the money, at least not in my experience. The girls. I do it for the girls."
He followed his reply up with a smile, hoping that the make-up the people backstage had plastered his face with didn't make him look stupid. It was hard to gauge the audience's reaction while the lights blinded him, but he heard a decent amount of laughter. The laughs helped him relax slightly.
"I expect as the acclaimed hero that you are that you would be fighting the ladies off with a stick!" the talk-show host proclaimed with the casual amount of joy that had landed her job. "But what about the other side of things, Mister Rider? What about archenemies and notorious supervillains that always come back for more?"
The man called Nova smirked at the notion that Sharon O'Shea, the host of The Sharon Show, had presented to him. "I'm not sure what you were told, Sharon, but in my career as a hero I haven't really achieved much success in the archenemy department."
"So as a member of the defunct group of teen heroes dubbed the New Warriors you didn't encounter certain bad guys time and again who were out for revenge?"
"Not exactly," Nova answered. The longer the interview went on the more comfortable he was becoming. "We almost always wrapped things up in a nice and neat bundle once the smoke cleared."
He hated the fact that he had accepted the offer to appear on the nationally syndicated program, but when he was being honest with himself he knew that he had hoped to bolster his public image. Ever since the Avengers and the Fantastic Four, the originals, had been killed by the monstrosity that was Onslaught it had been difficult to publicly fill that void. People wanted someone to look up to. Someone who would make them feel safe at night. Someone who could protect them like Captain America, the Thing, and all the others had done.
He had even gone public with his identity, hoping that would be enough to instill belief in him. The result had been less than pleasing. Eventually the Warriors had disbanded, despite Nova's protests. He kept in contact with a couple of them but not as well as he really though he should have.
The simple fact of the matter was he had some big boots to fill and so far he didn't think he had done his job well enough.
"Well, Mister Rider, my next guest may disagree with you!" Sharon O'Shea said. She turned to face the crowd and stepped off the stage. "Let's bring him out, shall we?"
The audience clapped and Nova found himself at a loss for words. He hadn't expected this. He wondered who she was bringing out and was stunned to see a familiar face, that of someone he had crossed paths with on several occasions. He realized then that Sharon O'Shea, a legend in the industry for creating chaos on her shows, had set him up. What was worse was he had fallen for it.
"This is Mister Thomas Sorenson," Sharon yelled into her microphone while the audience clapped, "a career criminal who has clashed with the New Warriors, along with the man called Nova, many times as the colorful Mathemanic!"
Sorenson crossed the stage and waved casually to the crowd as he sat down in a comfortable chair on the opposing side of the stage from Nova. His trademark blonde mullet had been cut back considerably, making him look older than he was. He still wore the 3-D glasses that Nova had knocked off his face a few different times.
Richard Rider instantly regretted coming on the show. He didn't want a fight to break out, especially with the Mathemanic. If a fight broke out on TV the country would hate him instead of trust him.
"Thanks for having me, Sharon," the Mathemanic said.
"Let's get right down to it," the host said as she stepped to center stage exactly between the two guests. "Two years ago, almost to the day, the world's greatest heroes were taken from us. Some would argue a new era has begun, an era that doesn't play by the same rules. The two of you, and let's be honest, aren't the most well-known public figures. But you've still butted heads and caused more than your fair share of damage."
"Hold on a sec—" Nova said, trying to interrupt.
Sharon innocently held up a hand toward him but kept on talking. "What we want to know is since the rules have all changed, can the two of you peacefully co-exist?"
"I don't know about buckethead over there," the Mathemanic said, "but since the last time he and his groupies sent me to jail I've turned over a new leaf. If anybody here has a problem these days it's him."
"I don't have any—" Nova blurted out, but again he found himself silenced by Sharon's hand.
"So what your saying is that the so-called heroes may be doing more harm than good?"
"Um, no. Not really. What I mean is—"
"What you mean is that ever since this world lost its real heroes, those that stepped up were forced into a position they weren't ready for!" Sharon countered. The crowd began chanting her name in the background, a custom of the show that had become its trademark. "They get the spotlight while you had to pay for it. And why, Mister Sorenson? Weren't you an innocent caught up in their game?"
"Okay, that's enough!" Nova said as he stood up. "Look, lady. This isn't why I signed on to do the show. You're really twisted, you know that? We're done here."
As Nova stormed off the stage the host motioned to her producer to go to commercial. The already frantic stagehands jumped up to retouch her make-up as the audience cheered from the aggravation created on stage. Nova reached the side exit from the studio but stopped when he heard his name being called from behind him.
"Wait a second, will you?" the Mathemanic said as he hopped off the stage and ran over to the hero. His breathing had deepened even though it wasn't that long of a jog. "I didn't know she was going to get all crazy on us, man. I'm really sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Nova replied. He took his hand off the door and turned to regard the man he had fought in a time that seemed a world away now. "Just don't start a fight and we'll be fine."
"Heh," Sorenson chuckled. "Different life, man. Way different. Look, I just came here because they offered me a thousand bucks to show up. Things have been kind of tough, you know? No one wants to hire an ex-con."
"Sorry to hear that. Must be rough."
"Yeah," the former villain replied. "Look, maybe you could help me out."
"I don't think so." Nova shifted his stance. Something didn't feel right about the situation. "I'm not going back on that game show. Best of luck to you. Hope your fifteen minutes here works out."
Nova turned back around and pushed the exit door open, stomping off to leave the studio. He didn't notice Sorenson and Sharon O'Shea share a quick glance before the Mathemanic chased off after Nova. By the time the former villain reached the parking lot, however, Nova had donned his helmet again and leapt into the open sky. Within seconds the human rocket had blazed across the horizon and was out of sight.
The world had become a different place and Richard Rider wasn't sure he fit in anymore. For a man who had seen a handful of galaxies as part of the intergalactic Nova Corps, he began to think that maybe there wasn't anything left for him on Earth. The cool breeze washing over his face as he flew across the skyline helped clear his head.
One thing was for sure to Nova. The glory days of the New Warriors were long gone.
The small diner that sat in the heart of Los Angeles was usually full around lunchtime, sporting famous celebrities who wanted to "slum it" with the working class L.A. inhabitant. At the moment, however, it seemed that even the most adventurous Hollywood actor wanted nothing to do with the establishment. Completely empty except for the staff and a lone occupant, the diner had seen better days.
"Order up!" a youthful and energetic voice said from the kitchen.
The only customer in the establishment winced as she saw a few tiny multicolored bubbles float out through the small window that separated the kitchen and the counter. A bright light flashed and before she could react a stack of pancakes flew at her face. The syrup covered breakfast food slapped her square in the forehead and slid down onto an empty plate in front of her. She let out a small "eek!" and furiously wiped at the syrup still stuck to her face.
"Oops," the voice from the kitchen said. "Sorry, miss. Little too much kinetic energy I guess. I'll just whip up another batch real quick."
The customer shot an angry look at the window, unable to see exactly where the cook was. She grabbed her purse and swaggered to the exit, pushing it open and leaving in a sticky tizzy.
An extremely overweight man in his mid-forties stood up from behind the counter where he had been hiding. "That's it!" he yelled. "Get your skinny butt out here! You're fired!"
"Say what?" the youthful voice replied. The door leading back to the kitchen was kicked open by an orange boot, which was connected to a lithe young man wearing a blue and orange body suit. "You can't fire me! I'm your biggest draw!"
"Was my biggest draw, punk!" the large owner of the diner responded. "Now people are too afraid to come in the joint because you keep slingin' their food at 'em. I hired you 'cause you was an ex-superhero and I figured that would draw in the big stars, see? Now look at the place! No one in sight! You're done, Flapjack. Get out."
"The name is Speedball," the youth stated. He ripped off his white smock and threw it at the owner. "Whatever. I don't need this garbage. There's a ton of offers just waiting for me to return calls! You'll be sorry."
The master of kinetic energy strutted to the door with his head held as high as he could hold it. He kicked the door open and with an afterthought grabbed one of his floating balls of contained kinetic energy and gently tossed it over his shoulder. The sphere bounced off the floor, slammed into the ceiling, and finally crashed into the cash register, causing it to explode. Coins and bills flew everywhere as the owner swore up and down for Speedball to get back, but the bouncing dynamo was already outside and activating his personal force field.
Speedball hopped on top of a parked car to give himself a little kick start in order to romp off down the street. The car alarm suddenly blared, alerting passersby to the strange costumed individual standing atop someone's Buick.
"Car thief!" someone shouted. "Call the police!"
"I'm not a—" Speedball began to say, but quickly cut himself off. "Oh, forget it."
The gaudily dressed hero leapt off of the car and allowed the resulting kinetic energy to propel him down the street. He twisted inside the force field surrounding him, which guided his trajectory into the side of a building. Ricocheting off of that surface Speedball angled himself to bounce off of the top of a lamppost, which propelled him to the roof of another building.
Speedball released the stored kinetic energy that formed his force field and touched down on the roof. He sighed and leaned back against the edge. Things hadn't been working out well for him lately.
"Stupid job," he said aloud to no one. "Hated it there anyway. I'm a hero for crying out loud! I should be—"
The sound of police sirens whizzing by underneath him caught his attention and wrecked his train of thought. "Sweet!" he yelled as he reformed his force field and bounced off the roof.
The energetic hero easily caught up with the three roaring squad cars that were tearing down the center of Los Angeles. Spying their point of interest from his height, a runaway armored car, Speedball smiled and ricocheted off the corner of a building toward the chase.
Speedball landed on top of the armored car, gripping its sides with his thin fingers. The armored car swerved to one side as it rounded a corner at around sixty miles per hour, nearly jarring his lose. No longer protected by his surrounding field, Speedball held on for dear life as the armored car rocketed through the L.A. streets.
It was difficult to fight against the wind shear, but Speedball managed to lean over the front window and take a look inside the armored car. Two men with ski masks occupied the driver and passenger seats, the latter sporting a sawed-off shotgun.
"Looks like someone is making an unauthorized withdrawal!" Speedball shouted over the roar of the racing armored car. The thieves both jumped from the shock of seeing the orange and blue weirdo atop their stolen vehicle. The one with the weapon fumbled for the safety before pointing it at Speedball's head. "Whoa, whoa, cowboy!" he tried to warn, but the crook squeezed off a shot anyway.
The buckshot from the weapon embedded itself into the inside of the windshield but didn't quite puncture the bulletproof glass. A large dose of the tiny pellets bounced back and struck the thieves in the chest, startling them. The protective vests they wore kept them alive, but the shock of what had just happened made the driver swerve the vehicle onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians screamed as the lumbering armored car headed straight for a famous fashion store that catered to the super wealthy.
"Oopsies!" Speedball exclaimed as he reactivated his force field. Quickly concentrating, Speedball extended his field of condensed kinetic energy to contain the armored car he was perched atop. No sooner had he locked the field in place than they slammed into the storefront. Instead of exploding into a mesh of glass, brick, and armor plating, the vehicle instead harmlessly bounced off the surface of the wall…and straight into the oncoming squad cars.
The entire armored car, with Speedball planted on the roof like a bull rider, slipped up and over the first squad car, supported only by his extended force field. The strain of supporting the immense weight became too much for him halfway over the collection of police vehicles and the field suddenly gave out. The armored car slammed down into the engine block of the second squad car, caving it in under its immense weight.
Speedball hopped off the roof of the armored car and yanked the passenger side door open. Both of the thieves were absolutely fine, but both were dazed and confused from the exertion of being tossed around inside the cabin of the armored car. He dragged both of them out and held them up for the approaching police officers to see.
"Don't worry, boys!" the hero said triumphantly. "This situation is well in hand. No need to thank me all at once. I was just—"
"Thank you?" one of the officers blurted out. "Who the hell are you? You just wrecked my cruiser, you fruitcake!"
Another pair of officers ran up and slapped handcuffs on the two thieves, yanking them away from Speedball. Rubbing the lenses of his goggles, Speedball looked over the other police officers and realized that his welcome was quickly wearing thin.
"Um, okay. Sorry. Yeah. Got to run. Bye, bye now."
"Get back here!" the officer screamed, but Speedball was already rebounding off of the third squad car, which had crashed into the back bumper of the second one, and making his grand exit.
The sometimes overly energetic hero pondered whether or not he should think of a change in living location, as the good people of Los Angeles just didn't seem to appreciate him.
The sun had nearly set behind the fifteen story building that held the corporate offices of the Taylor Foundation, but a few people still remained inside. Even though business hours had ended hours ago the dedicated men and women that believed most in what the foundation had been established for were intent on finishing what they had started that morning.
"I thought that meeting had been cancelled?" Dwayne Taylor exclaimed into the intercom on his desk. He sighed as he loosened his tie for the fifth time and slouched back in his plush office chair. "You know what? Never mind. Go home, Samantha. We'll take care of it in the morning. Say hello to John for me."
Before his secretary could reply he shut the intercom off. Dwayne rubbed his eyes, fighting off exhaustion. Typically he would be home by this point in the evening, but lately he kept staying in the office later and later. He finally admitted to himself that he didn't have much to go home to, which typically satisfied his reasoning long enough to get through a few more hours of paper work.
The seemingly endless shuffle of desk duty was something Dwayne Taylor never thought he would be swept up in. While he desperately wanted the various projects that the foundation dabbled in to succeed, there was a time when he would have much rather preferred to be sparring in a dojo. Once known as the masked Night Thrasher, a vigilante and hero of sorts, Dwayne had traveled the world learning various styles of martial arts. The hardships he learned had served him well, and currently patience was a virtue he valued above most others.
Frustrated, Dwayne stood up and stretched, realizing it was the first time in several hours he had let his legs support his full weight. He brought his knees up to his chest one at a time, stretching out the ligaments and sleepy muscles. Dwayne twisted his back, cracking his spine, as he walked over to a mostly bare wall in his office.
Removing the articulate blazer he wore as part of his business suit, Dwayne tossed it on a nearby chair and pressed a hidden switch behind a painting hanging on the wall. A large section slid back to reveal a hidden display. On a shelf inside the unveiled compartment rested a pair of his old battle staves along with various other gadgets he had perfected in the field. Hanging above them were the modular pieces of body armor he had designed to protect himself, complete with a black and red helmet that stared at him ominously.
He couldn't remember the last time he had checked out his old Night Thrasher gear. A thin coating of dust brushed off easily as he clutched the battle staves. He twirled them in his hands, executing a series of movements that few people could have duplicated. He lunged out with the staves, stabbing at an invisible enemy, and then swept the tips around to strike at another ghostly opponent. He grunted as he leapt back and kicked his one leg out, stretching his muscles yet again with the maneuver. Upon landing just a few feet back he continued to twirl the battle staves until one of them slipped out of his fingers and fell to the carpeted floor.
He stared at it, realizing just how out of practice he had allowed himself to become. There was a time that would never have happened. He chided himself for letting his skills dull.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," he heard a woman say.
Dwayne whirled around and prepared to defend himself. He gripped his remaining battle stave tightly as he searched the interior of his office only to find that he was indeed alone.
"Over here," another woman's voice said.
Dwayne looked in the direction of the voice and to his surprise saw a pair of women floating just outside his office window. He smiled as he instantly recognized the two females as longtime friends, friends he had lost touch with over the last few months.
Garbed in a tight yellow and red suit was Angelica Jones, the heroine called Firestar. A soft glow surrounded her, which Dwayne knew was her microwave-based powers that allowed her to defy gravity. Streaks of red ran through her dark hair that reached down passed her shoulders. She looked good, probably better than he did.
Beside her was a flying blue skinned woman of foreign beauty. Her code name had been Kymeara, but her actual name was Namorita, and only her close friends referred to her as Nita. A clone of an Atlantean, the strong and athletic looking woman was possibly one of the fiercest people Dwayne had ever met. Her long blonde hair was tied into a tight pony tail that hung down the length of her back and her arms were crossed over her chest impatiently.
"Well?" Nita said. "Aren't you going to invite us in? It's cold up here."
Dwayne collected his dropped battle stave and made his way to the window, which he quickly unlatched so they could float into his office. "Aren't you attuned to the chilling depths of the oceans?" he asked as the couple flew in. "I doubt a little bit of wind is going bother you too much. Good to see the two of you."
"Ditto," the blue skinned woman replied. "Burning the midnight oil?"
"More or less. The foundation has some important research going on concerning new treatments for multiple organ failure. I like to keep on top of things."
The trio settled into a moment of silence as each one was unsure of what to say next. Their adventures as part of the New Warriors had brought them closer than most people would be able to understand, but after their initial failure to replace the lost heroes they had drifted apart. It was like seeing an old aunt or uncle from your youth pop in randomly.
"So," Dwayne began to say. "How are you guys? Can I get you a drink?"
"Thanks, but no," Nita answered. "We're sort of here on business. We need your help, Dwayne."
The CEO of the Taylor Foundation went rigid. He noticed that Firestar had removed herself from them slightly and her arms were uneasily rubbing her elbows. It looked like she was upset about something.
"To put it more accurately," Dwayne said, "you mean she needs my help. What's wrong, Angelica?"
The firecaster let her head hang. A few stray locks of hair brushed in front of her face, kept out of her eyes by the red domino mask she wore. Her body language alone had told Dwayne that something was bothering her enough that she needed his help. In his experience he knew that Firestar was typically much more lighthearted than the others in their old group, and that for her to be acting in such a manner meant that something important was going on.
"It's not really me," Firestar explained. "I retired from this hero nonsense. I was done. Out. I wanted to live a normal life and put the costumes behind me. Being a mutant is difficult enough without being part of the hero crowd as well."
Namorita moved closer to Firestar and placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to sympathize with her. "Just tell him what happened," Nita told her. "That's why we came here."
"Like I said, I was done with this stuff," Angelica continued. "And Vance was done, too."
Dwayne started to put the pieces together in his head. Vance Astrovik, another former member of the New Warriors, had been romantically connected with Firestar on several occasions. The last he had heard they were living together somewhere and things had gotten serious. As the costumed hero called Justice, Vance had been an invaluable member of the New Warriors.
"Something happened to Vance?" Dwayne hypothesized aloud.
Firestar shook her head affirmatively. "Yes. I came home from a job interview and had good news to tell him. I nailed the thing and got the job right on the spot. I wanted to celebrate. To me getting that job meant I was done leaning on Firestar and that Angelica Jones could stand on her own, you know? Anyway, I got home and the place was a wreck. Vance was gone. And there…there was blood."
"Did you call the police?" Dwayne asked.
"She did," Nita answered for her friend. "And then she called me. Dwayne, we need to find out what happened to Vance. We need to grab the others and start searching before something really bad happens."
Dwayne looked passed the two women standing in his office and focused on the helmet still hanging on the wall. It looked back at him eerily. "Okay," Dwayne finally said after a long pause. "Let's collect the other Warriors and track down Vance. Don't worry, Angelica. He's tough and if anyone can handle himself it's him. We'll find him."
He hoped that she believed in his apparent confidence. He wasn't sure that he did.
To be continued…
