A/N: I'm currently redoing my 100 fics with a different approach, and this was originally intended for the prompt "Hours" (see FanArt100 on DeviantArt), but then I decided to make this a separate piece. (The draft was written before Golden Hour Dawns.)
Any other week, the news of supervillains vanishing from Bumblyburg would have been a cause for celebration among the citizens, but it took awhile before it was brought to anyone's attention. At first, the fighting heroes of the League of Incredible Heroes had not noticed the sudden drop in megalomaniacal felonies because the regular thugs and crooks of the criminal underworld were more than content with their average-Joe misdemeanors to keep the superheroes busy from dawn to dusk. All it took, however, was one distress message from an undercover cop to alert them to the new development.
Officer Berry had infiltrated Dr. Arvin Flurry's lair, disguised as a disgruntled penguin trainer, but before he could lead Dr. Flurry into the BPD's sting operation, something had caused him to telephone his team, but his message was cut off before he could say what. The police had rushed over to rescue Berry, but on breaking into the lair, they discovered that the whole place ransacked, and not even a penguin could be found on the premises. Desperate for help, the BPD had then lit the League Signal.
The available members had responded — Thingamabob, their brown-haired leader with a utility belt full of efficacious gadgets; Vogue, a fashion-themed redhead with a super suit capable of producing advantageous outfits and accessories for just about every occasion, and the recently promoted Golden Hour, who wielded the Super Camera.
Originally brought on for PR purposes against an anti-superhero propaganda machine, Golden Hour had been content to be a mere accessory for the team, a partner in the background who took pictures and published them at The Daily Bumble under a pseudonym (for no one could know that photojournalist, Vicki Cucumber, had close ties with the League). Her costume, made of lavenders and blues, had been designed to allow her to blend into the shadows while the more active members did the real work; however, Golden Hour's resourcefulness with the Super Camera (combined with an excellent training regime provided by their affluent patron, Mr. Nezzer) had soon made her a productive member, and she was trusted to answer the distress call with her teammates.
They met Officier Scooter at Dr. Flurry's ransacked lair. (Golden Hour naturally took the opportunity to snap photos of the crime scene for analysis.) The forensic team had found no evidence outside of anyone coming or going from the lair, except for Flurry, Berry and the penguins, but near Flurry's walk-in freezer full of frozen fish, they had unearthed a manhole leading down into the sewers.
"I suppose it's no surprise to you all that there are layers upon layers of supervillain lairs hidden deep beneath Bumblyburg," Scooter told the League teammates grimly when he showed them the tunnel. "Several are said to be connected, but we still haven't been able to find out how extensive the network is."
"Quite a neighborhood, you might say," Vogue remarked wryly.
"And the criminals around here just keep finding more corners to lurk in," Golden Hour muttered, narrowing her eyes behind her purple mask. Many times she had descended into the sewers and subways to chase down the likes of Awful Alvin, who preferred underground lairs, but she had often marveled at how one villain managed to claim so many hideouts under a single city.
But there was no time to ponder that further. Thingamabob straightened his shoulders, his red face taking on that familiar look of almost militant determination.
"We'll find Officier Berry, Scooter," he promised. "You can count on us."
"Godspeed, League," Scooter wished them as the three descended the ladder.
At the bottom, Golden Hour turned on the flash of the Super Camera to light their path, and Thingamabob produced some type of scanner from his belt. He swept it over the passageway several times, thinning his wide lips.
"Track marks," he told the women. "Looks robotic. Maybe a spider-like machine."
"Temptation?" asked Golden Hour.
"Not quite, but I wouldn't rule her out."
"At least we have a trail, right?" inquired Vogue.
"For now." He jerked his head toward one end of the tunnel. "This way."
They followed the scanner for twenty minutes until they came to an intersection. Thingamabob stopped, and his eyes bulged behind his gold mask.
"Looks like… more robots joined the ones who kidnapped Berry and Flurry," he said. He pointed a gloved hand toward a small tunnel built into the main wall. "They came from that direction, then all the robots headed down the mainline."
"Maybe it was the same group at different times?" suggested Golden Hour. "Or they kidnapped Berry and Flurry, went down that way for a quick detour, and then came back."
"No, the footprints are from two different models of robots, and the tracks seemed to have been made around the same time, according to these readings." He peered down the tunnel. "I wonder what's down there?"
"Should we investigate?" asked Vogue.
"It could be an important clue." Thingamabob furrowed his brow, then nodded as though to himself. "Let's try it for five or ten minutes. If we don't find anything useful, we double back and keep looking for Berry. Stay close now."
Eight minutes later, they came upon the remains of a mechanical door torn out of its frame. Thingamabob went in first to secure the area, but he found only another ransacked lair, with most of the furniture overturned and a series of super weapons shattered and smashed. Slices of anchovy pizza had been strewn across the floor near an upside-down pizza box. Thingamabob signaled for the women that it was safe to enter.
As Golden Hour passed into the lair, the familiar smell of onions assaulted her olfactory senses, and she spun around, realizing where they were.
"This is another one of Awful Alvin's lairs!" she cried. "He makes all his hideouts smell like onions and garlic and who knows what else."
"Guys," Vogue suddenly said, pointing, wide-eyed, to a dark corner. "Look."
Golden Hour followed her gaze, and her heart froze in spite of herself. There, on the dusty floor, was the remains of a shattered light bulb.
Thingamabob hurried over to it, sweeping the scanner above the shards.
"Alvin would never do anything to hurt Lampy," he stated. "Something must have happened to him, just like Dr. Flurry."
The three exchanged perplexed looks.
"Who would want to carry off two supervillains?" pondered Vogue.
"Probably a bigger supervillain," Golden Hour suggested. "Like somebody who doesn't like competition."
Thingamabob frowned, then spun on his heel, heading toward a ladder leading up into a hole in the ceiling.
"Let's get above ground and call Scooter," he said. "We need to know more about what we're dealing with and who we might be up against."
Once he had a clear signal, Thingamabob set up a video call with Scooter.
"Scooter, have you gotten any reports of any other supervillains besides Dr. Flurry disappearing?"
Scooter's white eyebrows shot up. "It's amazing that you should ask that, lad!"
"What?"
"We got an audio recording over here, about ten minutes ago. Hang on. I'll have Simmons play it."
The image on the screen then showed the ceiling of Scooter's office as he laid down his phone, and they heard him call Simmons. In moments, Simmons joined them and played the file. After a pause, a cold, passionless man spoke.
"The citizens of Bumblyburg can rest comfortably now that I, The Reckoner, have taken it upon myself to eliminate their pest problem. Neither the Bumblyburg Police Department or the so-called League of Incredible Heroes have provided any real solution for dealing with the supervillains plaguing our once great city. So, it falls upon me to make sure these criminals no longer harm innocent civilians. I suspect you may try to investigate their disappearance due to bureaucratic red tape, but if any of you try to rescue those who are undeserving of aid, then what happens to you will be upon your own heads."
The message ended, and the League stared at each other in silence.
"And Officier Berry got caught in the middle," breathed Golden Hour, feeling her heart sink.
Thingamabob ended the call with Scooter and turned to his friends.
"Well, whoever this Reckoner is, he left us a trail to follow. C'mon."
The three hurried back to the manhole and re-entered Awful Alvin's lair, following the wreckage back to the torn door that led into the sewer.
They followed the tracks for over an hour before they found themselves at a sealed doorway with a keypad. Thingamabob easily used a gadget on his belt to bypass the passcode, and the door slid open to reveal a long, clean hallway. After using one of his mechanical arms to check for traps, Thingamabob gave them the clear to advance, and they followed the corridor to an open doorway that brought them to a vaulted chamber, completely empty except for an intercom speaker perched high on one wall, with a circle of glass denoting a camera. On the other side of the room stood a closed hangar-sized door, the sort of feature that would have been at home in a spy film or in an alien base.
Golden Hour cast a wry glance about the room.
"If I were a megalomaniacal supervillain, this is exactly the sort of room where I'd put a few diabolical booby traps for unsuspecting heroes to fall into."
Thingamabob nodded. "Everyone, stay close."
A compartment from his belt popped and a mechanical popped out, unfolding a shield. Vogue unfurled her cape-like wings, then she turned on their bullet-proof feature, and the pink-and-purple fabric thickened with added padding.
"Survival is always in style," she quipped.
Thingamabob and Vogue then had Golden Hour move between them, and the former led the way into the chamber.
As they reached the center, the intercom crackled, and a passionless voice said, "Welcome, League. I figured you might drop by."
Thingamabob lifted his eyes to squint at the intercom. "The Reckoner, I presume?"
"Exactly so."
"Where are the kidnapped villains?" Thingamabob demanded. "Temptation, Greta, Dr. Flurry, and the rest?"
"What does it matter to you?" said the voice. "They're only criminals."
"Criminals from our city," Vogue frowned. "What did you do with them?"
"Only what you heroes should have already done."
Thingamabob strode up to the intercom, glaring. "You can't hurt them! There's an undercover cop in their midst!"
"You mean, of course, Officer Berry," answered The Reckoner. "You can rest your minds, dear League. I released him over an hour ago."
The three stared at the intercom in surprise.
"You did?" Golden Hour questioned, dubious.
"Only the guilty will be punished here," The Reckoner replied in a rough tone before his voice became businesslike, "If that's all you wanted, then you may go. We've clearly had a misunderstanding, League, but perhaps in the future we can work together."
Thingamabob, however, held up a gloved hand. "Now, hold on. What about the villains?"
"What about them?"
"You realize we can't let you just do as you please with them," Thingamabob replied, matching The Reckoner's frigid tone. "They have rights, and we're taking them back with us."
"Ha!" barked The Reckoner, heat flaring again. "It's a bleeding-heart mentality like that which lets your foes back on the streets. It's time they got what's coming to them."
"And you've made yourself judge and jury then?" demanded Vogue, lifting her chin.
"Someone has to."
Thingamabob glared up at the camera. "This isn't justice. This is unrestrained vigilantism."
"And what do you three do every night?" The Reckoner drawled. "You League members are always quoting the Bible. I believe there's something in the Old Testament about an avenger of blood? That's all that I'm really doing. I'm avenging. I'm bringing about a much needed reckoning."
His gelid delivery of that last line caused an involuntary shudder to pass through Golden Hour.
"But that was under the old covenant," she said softly, "and even back then you couldn't execute a person without at least two witnesses."
"I and my colleagues have witnessed enough, and we find these villains guilty."
Thingamabob jabbed a finger toward the intercom.
"As long as we're quoting the Bible, let me ask if you're familiar with 1 John 3:15: 'Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.' In God's eyes, the sins you commit in your heart are just as bad as any action. You may act on your hate now, Reckoner, but you'll have to stand before Him eventually."
"At least I can take out a few rats before I do."
"They're not rats," Golden Hour said. "They're human beings."
"Not from where I'm standing." The Reckoner's voice grew brisk again. "So, you'll really 'love your enemies' even when they are unrepentant criminals?"
"Sometimes they're the ones who need the most love," Vogue answered, defiant.
"Then perhaps you'd like to put your beliefs to the test."
A creak sounded, and the three teammates turned to see the large door open, revealing a long, slanting hallway beyond it.
"Beyond this point is the maze," The Reckoner said. "As you've probably figured out, the underground portions of Bumblyburg are riddled with the lairs of supervillains, managed by their own criminal realtors. I merely acquired those that I could under an assumed name, refurbished them, added a few surprises, and then connected them with several twisting tunnels, just in case any of my prisoners managed to escape their punishments. If you want to rescue your criminals, you may do so, but I'm afraid you'll only have two hours before the main attraction occurs."
"Main attraction?" Golden Hour repeated, leaning back.
He let out a frosty chuckle. "Well, you don't expect me to ruin the surprise, do you? If you enter the maze, I'm not responsible for what happens, but go ahead. Show me how well you love your enemies, League."
Thingamabob lifted his head. "I'd rather fail while trying to please God than succeed at disobeying Him."
"You'll have plenty of opportunities to make that distinction in the maze," The Reckoner replied, almost in a growl, before his voice grew suddenly sweeter.
"Of course," he purred, "if you all decide just to remain in this chamber for two hours and let the villains get what's coming to them, I'm sure nobody would blame you."
"Out of the question," Thingamabob snapped. "That would be inhuman."
"They're inhuman," The Reckoner sneered. "Not a single one of them would rescue you if the roles were switched."
"Doesn't matter," Vogue retorted. "You can't take a life without due process."
"But doesn't the Bible say 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'?" challenged The Reckoner. "You're not going to go against the Bible, are you?"
Thingamabob's eyes hardened. "You mean, are we going to go against your interpretation of a verse that you're quoting out of context — and not even quoting completely? Of course we are."
"Even the devil can quote Scripture," Vogue threw in. "If you knew the full context of that verse, Reckoner, you would know that the Bible was describing true justice, not disproportionate punishments. If a man caused another to lose one eye, a judge could not then order for the defendant to have both his eyes removed as punishment."
"And kidnapping villains and locking them in a death maze would certainly fall under the term 'disproportionate,'" said Thingamabob. "No matter what they did, you have no authority either in Heaven or on earth to be their executioner."
"We shall see," said The Reckoner, growing frigid once more. "You have two hours. Whatever happens to you in the maze will be on your own heads."
Golden Hour turned toward the intercom. "Exactly how many villains are inside there?"
"You'll just have to go see," The Reckoner returned. "Maybe there's ten. Maybe there's twenty. Or forty or four hundred. You won't know until the time is up, assuming you survive that long."
Instead of responding, the three walked toward the door. Just before the threshold, however, Thingamabob stopped and turned to Golden Hour.
"If you want to stay behind, Gold, it's okay," he said. "The Super Camera can do a lot of things, but you don't have any offensive features on your super suit like Vogue and I have. You'll be safe here. …Relatively speaking," he added, shooting a scowl toward the intercom.
Golden Hour gripped her camera strap and shook her head. "If you guys are going, I'm going. Even if it is to save the villains."
Thingamabob's masked eyes met hers, and something like compassion appeared. He laid a brotherly hand on her slim shoulder.
"Look, Gold, maybe these guys love walking on the dark side," he began, "but I don't want to let them just die without giving them one more chance to get right with Jesus. Even if they squander that chance, even if they repay our good with evil, at least we tried to help them avoid the fate that comes afterwards."
"A fate that everyone deserves," Vogue said grimly, "but He took what was meant for us anyway."
Golden Hour kept silent. Intellectually, she agreed with what they were saying — this was just the sort of thing she had learned as a child in Sunday school — but a tsunami of dark emotions rose up in protest.
Angry eyebrows and multiple attempts to enslave the city, webs of temptation, kidnapped yodelers, slushies laced with a concoction to suck out the strength of anyone who gave into envy — on and on, the gallery of Bumblyburg's rogues had not hesitated to hurt and control people, with no regard for free will or human dignity. Worst of all, they actually celebrated their evil deeds and derided anyone who had any moral fiber as being weak minded and inferior. If Golden Hour and her friends died in the process of saving their foes, it would not even matter to the villains. They would just delight in being free of do-gooders and go back to hurting people.
"C'mon," charged Thingamabob, cutting into her turbulent thoughts. "We don't have much time."
"Right," agreed Vogue, already turning toward the gaping doorway.
They all broke into a run, following the dim lights lining the corridors, and the passage echoed with their footsteps. About a hundred yards in, the passage led into a small chamber with three different open doors.
Thingamabob did not halt, taking the one on the far right. "See you later!"
"God be with you both!" Vogue called before she disappeared into the left one.
That left the middle for Golden Hour. Pushing aside every thought of protest or doubt, she plunged down the hall.
Within minutes she reached another fork and clattered to a stop.
"Hello? Hello?" she called down one hall, and her voice echoed ahead of her like a herald. "Dr. Flurry? Temptation? Greta von Gruesome? Can anyone hear me?"
Only her own voice met her. She tried again, but she could not wait long. With a silent prayer, she took the left path and bolted down.
"Hello? Hello?" she kept calling at each fork.
This happened several times before she finally heard a faint voice shout back: "In here! In here! You got to save him! Please!"
She followed the voice down two corridors. The closer she got, the more discernible it became, and Golden Hour almost halted when she recognized it: high-pitched on some syllables, then rough when it sank back down. It belonged to none other than Awful Alvin.
Golden Hour clenched her hands, and the bile rose up within her. Awful Alvin — of all the villains she could have found first, it had to be Awful Alvin, that malicious, megalomaniac man who had threatened her life and her city at every opportunity, who did not spare his hand just because a woman or a child might get hurt.
Why him? she wondered in frustration, but she pushed forward. Regardless of her personal feelings toward that despicable man, she was still a superhero, and he was in distress.
She followed the cries until she came upon a stone chamber. An enormous rectangular pit had been dug into the floor, lined with two-bar guardrails and a concrete walkway on all sides. Inside the pit was the size of a small swimming pool, and this had been filled with bubbling green acid, over which a floor lamp had been suspended by a linked chain. The lamp hung horizontally, and on its white shade a hand-drawn smiley face gazed out placidly in stark contrast to its situation.
By the wall on the right hand, a tall, thin man sat on a shovel-shaped seat, wringing his gloved hands. Off-white skin stretched over an enormous, mostly bald cranium, which gave him the overall appearance of an onion. Thick, brown eyebrows contracted in fear above his yellow eyes, one of which sported a large monocle. A waist-length cape with a high collar hung upon his thin shoulders, and beneath that he wore a purple tunic with green sleeves and green bell bottoms.
"Goldilocks!" Awful Alvin cried, spinning in his seat as she zoomed into the chamber. "Please, you've got to help Lampy! There's not much time left!"
Golden Hour skidded to a halt near him, and her eyes narrowed when she noticed something.
"You're not even tied up?!" she demanded. "Why are you just sitting there?"
"I have to!" He pointed desperately at the chair, which she now saw had been built into the wall. "They said that this has a pressure plate! If I leave, then Lampy will immediately fall into that acid!"
"Oh, you got to be kidding me!"
Golden Hour ran to the railing, surveying the vat below her. It was then that she noticed a troubling detail: the chain holding Lampy was wrapped around a spool, and with each click of unseen gears, the spool unwound, dropping the lamp inch by slow inch toward the acid.
"Overkill much?" she muttered.
The Reckoner could not honestly be expecting her to go rescue a lamp while keeping Awful Alvin unbound (not counting emotional ties to an appliance), so there must be more to this puzzle.
She spun to Awful Alvin. "Did the people who put you here tell you anything else about this room?"
He nodded solemnly and pointed to the corner on his right, where an intercom like the one at the start of the maze had been mounted near the ceiling.
"The guy on the intercom said that only one of us can survive this room — but it has to be Lampy!" he insisted. "I couldn't live with myself if anything ever happened to him!"
Golden Hour narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly happens if I rescue Lampy instead of you?"
Awful Alvin pointed at the floor, and it was then that Golden Hour spotted thin lines forming a box that stretched from the wall to the ledge.
Her eyes widened with realization. "A trap door?"
He swallowed and nodded again.
"And if neither of us are rescued by the time Lampy hits the acid, I'll drop down, and we both die." He let out a pitiful groan and buried his face into his gloved hands. "Oh, Lampy, you're in this mess because of me! I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you!"
Golden Hour sighed, rubbing her temple. "Alvin, not to be rude, but that's very distracting, and I need time to think."
He mumbled what might have been the first apology she had ever heard from him and peered at her imploringly.
"Please, Golden Hour," he begged, holding up his clasped hands. "Whatever you feel about me, don't let Lampy die."
She turned away from him and folded her arms, eyeing the death trap for Lampy. She now understood why The Reckoner had gone to such lengths to endanger an appliance. If Golden Hour tried to rescue Awful Alvin and let his only friend fall to its demise, then Awful Alvin was likely to snap and attack her in revenge; if she tried to rescue the lamp, she would be endangering herself over an inanimate object. What if she died in the process?
"Of all the days for the Camera's grappling cord to be busted," she groaned to herself.
She bit the inside of her cheek, reeling at the horrible odds of her being the one to find Awful Alvin. If Thingamabob or Vogue had been here, either could have created some sort of extension with their super suits and plucked up Awful Alvin and Lampy in one go, but what could Golden Hour do with only a high-tech (if slightly damaged) camera?
Whatever it was, she had to do it within the next five minutes. Lampy dropped closer to the acid with each creak of the gears above.
God, I need help and fast!
She studied the chainlink for half a second before she got an idea. She unslung the Super Camera and unclasped one end of the long, reinforced strap, which she tied to the railing. Mr. Nezzer had often claimed the fabric could hold up to four hundred pounds, and she hoped he was right.
"Alvin, pass me your cape," she ordered, undoing the clasps of her own.
Awful Alvin obeyed as quickly as he could, careful not to shift his weight in any way that activated the pressure plate. Golden Hour first tied the two capes together, then tied one end of the makeshift rope to the other end of the Camera's strap. She then turned and started to wrap the last end around Awful Alvin's ankle.
"Not me!" he yelled, yanking back his leg. "Save Lampy!"
"I will," she insisted, "but I can't focus on the lamp if I'm worrying about you plummeting to your death! Now give me your leg!"
Awful Alvin reluctantly complied, and she made a firm knot around his ankle and finally turned her attention to the still descending lamp. Keeping her eyes on Lampy, she took hold of the top bar of the guardrail and placed her foot on the lower one. Carefully, she stepped up, intending to climb onto the other side.
A crackle of a radio suddenly came from the direction of the intecom, and the voice of The Reckoner spoke: "You can always just leave."
Golden Hour jolted but managed to keep her balance. She swung her leg onto the other side of the railing, straddling the bar.
"Come, come, Golden Hour, all this for a lamp?" The Reckoner taunted. "You may claim to love your enemies, but surely, you don't love a lamp, right?"
Golden Hour ignored him. She brought over her next leg and carefully moved herself around until she sat facing Lampy.
"Is this all to please Awful Alvin?" The Reckoner hummed. "You'll risk your life to get his pet appliance, when he can just buy a new one? Doesn't that sound insane to you?"
"Lampy is irreplaceable!" Awful Alvin shrieked, shaking his fist at the intercom. "How dare you!"
Gripping the railing, Golden Hour placed her feet on the lower bar and started to stand.
"Be reasonable, Golden Hour. We both know you don't really love Awful Alvin," The Reckoner purred. "How can a superhero who loves justice also love such a monster? He's tried to kill you so many times, and if you save him, he'll just turn around and try to kill you again. Why risk your neck for him?"
"She's not doing this for me," Awful Alvin snapped. "She's doing it for Lampy."
The Reckoner gave him no acknowledgment.
"But it's not too late to leave, Golden Hour," he hummed in a silky tone. "Your friends are in different parts of the maze. You can walk away and say you couldn't find Awful Alvin. No one would ever know."
Golden Hour opened her mouth, but the rise of revulsion at the heartless suggestion nearly muted her.
Behind her, Awful Alvin let out a whimper.
"Look, Goldilocks, you can leave me behind if you want," he said, his voice rising in desperation, "but Lampy doesn't deserve this! He's only evil because I made him that way! He would have been a good lamp if not for me. Please, please, don't let him die!"
Golden Hour looked at him over her shoulder. His yellow eyes glistened with more anguish than she had ever seen in him. Awful Alvin often prided himself on having no friendly feelings for anyone, but Lampy was the one person— thing that produced any shade of compassion or protectiveness in the man. If Awful Alvin ever lost Lampy, that might push him into a much darker state from which he would never return.
But how many times has he ignored the pleas of those he's hurt? another thought demanded. Why is he more important than all the citizens of Bumblyburg? If he hurts anyone after today, their blood will be on your head, Vicki. Try living with that on your conscience.
…But how could anyone leave a fellow human being in this place, to die alone in both psychological and physical agony? No trial, no due process, no last prayer. What if Awful Alvin had been the hero, and Golden Hour the villain? Would he be right to leave her here?
"No one would know," The Reckoner repeated.
Golden Hour clenched the railing and turned back to Lampy.
"God would know." She stood as straight as she could. Without looking back, she said, "Alvin, if you know how to pray, I suggest you hop to it."
Clink, clink, clink. The gears lowered Lampy to his— its doom. Golden Hour crouched, gauging the distance between her and the chain, swung her arms back while bending her knees, and propelled herself for the chain.
She caught it, sending herself and Lampy swinging over the vat. Alvin let out a cry of alarm. Golden Hour pulled herself up, lifting her head to study the crank.
"Just as I thought," she sighed aloud. "The apparatus would probably be triggered once Lampy's weight was removed, but adding weight doesn't set it off! Even The Reckoner has to play fair."
"Yes, yes, you're smarter than you look," Alvin returned impatiently. "Don't kill my friend now!"
"Just watch."
Grateful both to her superhero training and to Coach Jones for all those rope drills back at Bumblyburg High School, Golden House firmly pressed her feet against the chain and began to climb, hand over hand. The metal chain between her boots followed her, and Lampy rose with it. The crank above kept feeding the chain out, but Golden Hour was faster and got a good way up. Near the top, she stopped and tightened her grip, then brought her knees up until she could reach one hand down and grab the chain from between her feet.
"Careful!" Alvin screeched.
She tried not to look at the open vat of acid beneath as she hauled Lampy up and wrapped an arm around the thin rod. She could now grab the chain with both hands again. She smiled down at her wide-eyed spectator gaping at her every move.
Still lowering with each turn of the crank, Golden Hour swiveled her head to study the distance to the walkway when something suddenly occurred to her.
"Alvin, you won't hold it against me if he gets dented, will you?" she called. "I promise I'll help you fix him."
"Lampy will understand," Alvin said faintly. "He'd rather have a few bruises than an acid bath."
"Good ol' Lampy." Golden Hour smiled wryly and tightened her grip on the chain.
She swung her feet, getting the sinking chain to begin to move like a pendulum. On the seventh or eighth swing, she had a wide enough range to toss Lampy toward Alvin, who caught him with a look of pure relief — and just then the crank reached the last turn.
The trapdoor opened beneath Alvin, and he disappeared with a scream, still clutching the chain.
"Hang on!" Golden Hour cried.
With Alvin's added weight, the chain went taut against the guardrail. Golden Hour linked her ankles around it and descended, practically sliding the whole way. Once on the platform, she dropped beside the open door and hastily peered in to see Alvin swinging like a hammock, held up by both the makeshift tether around his ankle and his grip on Lampy's chain. Far beneath him, something round and green glowed, and Golden Hour was quite sure it was another vat of acid.
"I'll get you out!" Golden Hour called, grabbing hold of the chain again. "Just wait!"
She leaned back, using her weight, and Alvin started to pull himself and Lampy up the chain. When Alvin was near enough, Golden Hour grabbed his arm to help him up the rest of the way.
Alvin collapsed on the concrete and rolled onto his back, gasping. He clasped Lampy against his chest and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
"Lampy!" he wept. "I thought I'd never see you again!"
Golden Hour plopped down on the walkway, leaning back against the guardrail. She brushed her blonde hair off her face, which she now realized was damp with perspiration. She watched Alvin in silence, studying the sobbing relief on his pallid face.
Then her eyes went again to the trap door, and she pictured the vat that had been awaiting Alvin, and a cold shudder passed through her.
It was at that moment that the full seriousness of what could have happened fell upon her — if the cape rope had not held, if Alvin's grip on the chain had loosened, if Golden Hour had not found him in time.
Maybe there might have been grace for someone deluded enough to believe that a lamp was alive, but maybe, since he was otherwise mentally sound enough to recognize good from evil, things would have gone a different route. Only God knew for sure, but Alvin could have found himself in the beginnings of the ultimate nightmare.
Golden Hour could never wish that fate on anyone, even Alvin.
She shifted her weight, turning her attention to the makeshift rope made from their capes, and set to work untying Alvin's leg. Once his cape was free again, she tossed it over him and undid her own from the strap, then returned both her cape and the Super Camera to her person. When she started to climb to her feet, she realized Alvin had sat up now, still with a deadlock on the now free Lampy, and he was watching her.
She formed a small smile for him. "Did Lampy get damaged?"
He shook his head. "He's perfectly fine. …Thanks to you."
She jerked a nod and rose, and Alvin did the same, continuing to watch her. She ignored this and patted off her skirt and leggings. When she finished, she planted her hands on her hips, meeting his yellow eyes.
"Look, Alvin, you can stay with me or you can find your own way out," she told him, "but if we go together, we have to work together. Agreed?"
Alvin's pale lips altered into a thin line of disgust, as though she had just suggested they elope and get a little home in the suburbs to raise their five kids.
"Enemies working together," he scoffed, turning his white nose up. "That's so cliche."
"It's in your own best interest," Golden Hour pointed out. "We already know these guys can apprehend you."
"Only because they cheated," he retorted. "Who sneaks into a villain's lair and just knocks him out when he's enjoying pizza night with his sidekick, huh? I didn't even have an evil plan for them to thwart yet! Is there no respect for hero-villain protocol anymore?"
"Then we have to stick together until we're out of here," Golden Hour said. "If you betray me, you'll only be playing into the hand of The Reckoner, who is waiting for an excuse to get rid of you. So, truce?"
She held out her gloved hand.
Alvin huffed, pulling Lampy closer. He looked like he wanted to refuse, but then his yellow eyes trailed up to the smiling, hand-drawn face. He gently adjusted the shade, much like a father fixing his child's hair.
"You saved Lampy just now," he said in a low tone. "We owe you a life debt, Goldilocks."
"Then you'll behave?" She extended her hand further, and this time he accepted it.
"For the present," he said.
"That's all I ask," she replied dryly before she gave his arm a tug. "C'mon then. There may be more villains nearby."
Alvin nodded and hiked Lampy onto his shoulder, following Golden Hour as she broke into a jog and charged back into the corridor.
THE END
A/N: I may write a continuation at another time.
and published them… under a pseudonym (for no one could know that photojournalist, Vicki Cucumber, had close ties with the League) — I'll have to find it again, but I watched a video with a fan rewrite of The Amazing Spider-Man, and the YouTuber had the idea of Peter Parker submitting his photos to Daily Bugle under an alias, and I like that for Golden Hour.
Underground lairs — In the books, there are references to underground lairs being a common thing in Bumblyburg. For example, LarryBoy and the Awful Ear Wacks Attacks says, "Awful Alvin's particular secret underground lair was a humble starter lair on the outskirts of Bumblyburg. It was a pretty bad neighborhood, but not quite as awful as Awful Alvin would have liked. Something to work up to, he thought." In LarryBoy and the Abominable Trashman!, there are mentions of other lairs: "All kinds of supervillains had built their secret lairs beneath the city, including the onion-headed master criminal of all, Awful Alvin."