Sundown - Part One

This story contains explicit language and drug-use.

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Mr. F*cking Superhero

Nale stood atop The Arc, watching the sun set behind the mountains. He’d done this a thousand times before. It was a beautiful thing, to see something so powerful rest after a hard day’s work. He held a package in the crook of his arm, the contents of which concerned him greatly, though he didn’t know exactly what it was. The boss was unpredictable these days.

       Well, no point keeping him waiting. He’d probably fly up to find Nale before long. Who knows how many that would endanger.

The once-busy hallways were silent save for the squeak of his boots on the marble flooring. A seam between two tiles caught his eye and he stopped to stare at it. He’d thought about this before. He knew there had to be seams, sections where the tiles connected. They couldn’t have made a single piece of marble in the shape of the entire top floor, rooms and all. Still, he’d walked this hallway more or less everyday for the past fourteen years, not once had he ever spotted one.

       Nale continued on. He ed door after door, hearing nothing after nothing from the other side. Spaced evenly along the wall—between each door—was a safety-glass case. Inside each case was a silver humanoid figure. Stands. Once, every one of those cases was home to the uniform that a hero of The Arc had died in. Few had been in wearable condition, some had been only scraps. Yet each one had filled Nale with a feeling of reverence each time he ed them. Most of the cases were empty now. The families of the deceased weren’t comfortable having such a precious momento so close to Nale’s boss anymore.

       Nale rapped his knuckles on the door at the very end of the hallway door in a rhythm that indicated it was him.

       “Come in.” A raspy voice on the other side called.

The room itself was sparsely decorated, though that wasn’t new. The walls were coated with an alloy that glowed like neon under heat, which allowed Nale’s boss to sketch with his mind. The melted remains of a uniform case was fused to the floor in the corner. A plain steel desk rested on the far side of the room and slumped over it, staring at a piece of paper was Sunsmite—Nale’s boss and once the greatest hero on earth. His broad chest filled out a hoodie stained with dried marinara sauce. His eyes were bloodshot, watery, and surrounded by dark circles. A golden glow softly emanated from his entire body, making the sheet of paper he held partially transparent. As Nale stepped forward he could make out two words at the top of the page. My Sunny.

       “Do you how she used to cross her arms?” Sunsmite said with a delirious smile. “When she knew that I knew what I’d done wrong. She’d just stand there, staring at me with her arms crossed ‘til I itted it.” Sunsmite chuckled, then broke down in tears. “I did so much wrong, Nale. So much.”

       Nale felt a familiar pressure in his head. A need to say something profound and uplifting. “Everyone makes mistakes, Sir.” He felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead as Sunsmite met his eyes. “Halo would want-“

       “Don’t you dare!” Sunsmite’s glow intensified. “You barely knew her!” He clenched his hands and slammed fists on his desk, leaving a dent in the steel. “You want me to move on. You think I don’t know that? You think I should just get better already, be Mr Fucking Superhero again. That’s what you want, Nale. You. Don’t try to pretend that your wishes are hers.” Sunsmite stood and began to pace back and forth. “Do you even her?” He stopped and eyed Nale for a moment, then continued pacing. “You act like you don’t.” The air in the room sizzled and for a moment Nale thought he was going to be vaporised but Sunsmite seemed to suddenly realise what he was doing and the heat along with his glow quickly subsided.

       Nale lowered his gaze to the floor. “The world needs you.”

       Sunsmite gave a hoarse, mirthless laugh. “The world doesn’t want me. Haven’t you seen the empty cases?”

       “They aren’t all empty. Some still believe in you.”

       Sunsmite sighed. “Then their faith is misplaced. I’m done, Nale. Fuck the world… and fuck you too. Now get out.”

       Nale set the package down on the desk. “This came for you.” He turned and left the room.

Nale stepped into the elevator and rode it all the way down. The doors opened into a massive underground bunker. The decor split the structure in two and equipped it to meet the needs of its dual purpose. To Nale’s left were two dozen clusters of computers, all connected to a stack of servers that in turn connected to a massive screen covering a good portion of the far left wall. On his right, shelves lined the walls and extended out in aisles three-deep, leaving a large open area in the centre. Those shelves had once held the most creative collection of tools and weapons Nale had ever seen.

       It wasn’t just the likes of superheroes that had made The Arc the force it once was. Plenty of police departments, militaries, and even corporations had superhumans. The Arc alone however, had boasted the most dedicated, knowledgeable, and well-equipped researchers and fireteams in the world. Each team was bespoke; of a size, equipped and trained uniquely for their hero. They were men and women Nale himself had taught, had learned from, had come to think of as family. They were gone now. The researchers had left as one, the fireteams each followed their assigned hero out the door. Only one fireteam still remained. Sunsmite’s own.

       Four people. Three men—including Nale—and one woman. Sunsmite had liked his team small so that they could easily link up with others, particularly one other.

       The others watched Nale as he entered the room but he didn’t want to talk to them just now. He knew what they wanted and it made him sick to think about. Instead, he made for a dome shelter that had taken the place of two aisles in the far corner. It was the only one in the whole bunker. There had only ever been one fireteam on-call during the night.

Nale pulled back the tarp flap, entered the shelter and looked around. Everything was exactly as it had been the last time he saw it, save for some dust. Blankets lay disheveled at the feet of bunks, no doubt thrown back in haste. Suitcases sat underneath some bunks, in front of others. Several sets of midnight battledress hung from wheeled racks. Nale walked to the far end of the shelter which was pressed against the wall. There was no bunk here, only another silver stand, this one displaying a uniform far more… fantastic than battledress. A deep blue and black swirled down a near floor-length dress, separated by a trimming of clear stones that Nale knew would catch and twinkle with their owners innate white light. This one was only a backup. The original had been vaporised, along with its owner.

       “Nale?” Petra’s voice called from behind him.

       Nale sighed. “I know what you’re going to ask. The answer is no, not yet.”

       “Nale.” This time her voice was flat.

       He turned to face her. “He is in there, Petra, trust me.”

       She stepped into the shelter. “I trust you,” she said. “But you know that’s not the issue.”

       “He’s hurting-“

       “Aye, he’s hurting. He’s hurting many. He flew through a god damn hospital last month, out of his mind on whatever it is he’s getting in those packages.”

       Nale flinched “We can’t even count the number of lives he’s saved, or could save again if we can just help him.”

       “One thousand, four hundred, seventeen.”

       Nale frowned. “What-“

       “That’s how many he’s killed this past year. Almost fifteen hundred people. That’s not even counting the… accident.”

       Nale’s mouth felt suddenly dry. “I don’t... We can’t just…” He looked over at Halo’s dress, and in that moment accepted a truth he’d already known. “I do you,” A tear ran down his cheek. “and I him too. But you’re both gone now.” Nale closed his eyes, letting the tears fall. “Another package came today,” he said, wiping his eyes. “We’ll have to act quickly. Tell the boys. The boss dies tonight.”

Art Credit

Cover           - source (stock image)

Background - Eduard Frankfort

#spiritwars2022

#charmingcarnations

This story will be told in three parts, but as the other two won’t really align with any spirit week themes, I won’t be writing them till the war is won (BY THE CARNATIONS!).