8Fold/Acra/HCC: My Father's Son #2 [HCC20]

[Saxon Brenton]

[8Fold/Acra/HCC] My Father's Son #2  [HCC20]
     
My Father's Son #2
An Eightfold series 
     
'My So-Called Life'
written by and copyright 2011 Saxon Brenton
(Tying in with the 20th High Concept Challenge: 'Behind Blue Eyes')
     
Cover shows an angry looking Kevin Duchamp prising himself out of a 
rubbish bin that he has been stuffed into.
     
     
     Over breakfast the next morning Slowpoke mused on the pattern that 
was developing and wondered what the Crime Mime's next caper would be.  
The silent film festival, and before that the clown exhibition at the 
museum, represented the events that the Mime had already assaulted.  
Now the teenager was sitting alone at a table at the school cafeteria, 
using his textpad to scroll through the various news feeds and online 
newspapers that he subscribed to in hope of getting inspiration, while 
simultaneously spooning his cereal into his mouth.
     He'd already noticed and dismissed an article about a party at the 
French embassy, since it was in Washington and therefore half a continent 
away.  Now Slowpoke's attention was caught by another article, this one 
about a charity fundraiser for the deaf.
     Of course actually, it was patterns, plural.  The mime related 
heists were only the most obvious pattern.  The other was that of a 
villain committing high profile theme crimes as a way of getting 
attention rather than as a way of becoming rich.
    .oO( Or merely becoming rich, ) Slowpoke mentally amended, recalling 
the theft of last night's takings at the film festival.  But the 
principle remained.  These days there were easier and more lucrative 
ways of pulling a crime than, say, robbing a bank and running away with 
whatever you could carry.
     .oO( Huh, ) thought Slowpoke, suddenly amused and savouring the 
irony.  The Crime Mime had probably been hoping for some big name four-
colour hero to fight with and maybe cultivate as an arch nemesis.  Win, 
lose or draw, the benefits to the Crime Mime's reputation would be 
enormous.  .oO( And instead he got me.  A relative newbie and a pimply 
faced kid to boot. )  Well, not that the black cape would know about the 
acne; that was one more reason Slowpoke wore the type of mask he did.  
In any case it must be taking all the Crime Mime's skill and willpower 
to keep in character and not scream in frustration.
     .oO( Well, too bad. )  Slowpoke wasn't interested in being one of 
those dilettante heroes who fought villains because he was bored and who 
thought it was acceptable to engage in metaphorical chess games while 
innocent bystanders were at risk.
     The young hero also briefly checked the output of the search filter 
that he'd set up to trawl through various social media sites, just in 
case someone else had stumbled across a pertinent piece of information 
or been struck with a useful insight.  He examined the first few results, 
then did a quick scan of a few dozen more, but there wasn't anything that 
he could see among all the babble.  Well-staffed law enforcement bodies, 
or people with no life, might have the time and resources for an in-depth 
analysis, but unfortunately he didn't.  
     Especially not when he was busy being picked on by school bullies.
     The very first superhuman power that Slowpoke had ever developed was 
empathy, at age five.  It was a useful (but by no means infallible) tool 
in his crime fighting arsenal.  Even after years of practice it didn't 
work over exceptionally long distances, but within its range it was 
powerful and discriminatory, allowing him to sense and identify people 
by their emotional states.
     Slowpoke acted casual and slipped his textpad back into his pocket 
as they tried to sneak up behind him.  He even doodled with a fingertip, 
drawing lines on table top as he feigned obliviousness to the sudden 
anticipatory quiet that had settled over the cafeteria.  A quietness 
broken only by the occasional snigger.
     "Shit, what are you up to now Douchecamp?" said Jackson loudly for 
the benefit his audience as he grabbed Slowpoke and hefted him up out of 
his seat.
     "Planning his big black cape scheme for world domination," jeered 
Trisha.  She may have been the one with superhuman strength, but since 
she was female she didn't usually participate in the actual roughhousing 
herself.  Funny how someone who had several times claimed that she wanted 
to be a positive female role model fell back into gender cliches like 
that, but then Slowpoke suspected that it was just a useful sounding 
catchphrase that she had developed to answer why she aspired to be a 
four-colour hero.  In any case Jackson tossed Slowpoke to Singh, and 
neither of them actually needed superhuman strength to do it.  It was 
simply another drawback that Slowpoke suffered from being so small.  
Then, after a condescending noogie, Singh stuffed Slowpoke head first 
in a trash bin.
     "Okay folks, nothing to see here," Jackson proclaimed.  "The 
villain's been defeated."  The cafeteria filled with laughter.
     Slowpoke blushed angrily and looked flustered as he prised himself 
out of the bin, and because he was in a situation where there were young 
telepaths who might want to voyeuristically savour his embarrassment he 
also made the effort to think Kevin's thoughts.  Embarrassment and 
resentment, mainly.  Meanwhile it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps 
he was being hasty in dismissing the possibility of the Crime Mine 
targeting the party at the French embassy.  Just because Slowpoke didn't 
have the means to travel across the continent at a whim didn't mean that 
the Crime Mime couldn't.
     No, wait, that didn't make any sense.  If the Crime Mime could flit 
across the country he wouldn't be making repeated appearances in the 
mid-west, at venues like silent film festivals and local museum exhibitions.
     Slowpoke went to change into clean clothing for school.
     
     
     The day progressed.  Slowpoke dutifully paid attention in his 
classes, but his heart was set on four o'clock when he could make his 
escape from school.  Much like any student, really.
     The only other bit of unpleasantness came just before lunch, when 
he was cornered by the school counsellor.
     John Danisee confused Slowpoke and in some ways scared him.  And 
not just because Danisee was a psi who could find out about his extra-
curricular heroing and spoil everything.  Rather, he was an authority 
figure that Slowpoke did not -- could not -- trust.  Moreover since 
Danisee and the other teachers at Burlington College held so much 
authority over state orphans such as himself, Slowpoke frequently felt 
helpless and not in control of his own life.
     Mr Danisee said, "Kevin, I've been told there was an incident at 
breakfast this morning."
     "Yes, sir."
     "You want to tell me about it?"
     Kevin shrugged.  It was a good piece of recalcitrant teenaged body 
language, that shrug.  "Some guys snuck up behind me, and shoved me head 
first in a trash bin," he said, truthfully.  It wouldn't be a good idea 
to lie to Danisee, not considering that part of his psi was a degree of 
truth-sensing.
     "Head first, huh?  So you didn't get to see them?"
     "No."
     "I guess that means you don't know who was responsible?"
     Slowpoke contrived to look uncomfortable, then said, "Adam Jackson, 
Dennis Singh and Trisha Neal."  When Danisee looked surprised, Slowpoke 
added, "I recognised their voices."
     Danisee nodded, but Slowpoke could feel his disappointment at this 
confirmation of identity.  Well, of course.  They were all popular and 
otherwise well respected seniors.
     "So did you do anything to set them off?"
     It wasn't quite the insulting question it first seemed.  Whoever 
had told the counsellor -- probably the cafeteria staff -- might not 
necessarily have caught the start of things.  And he was asking, 'Did you 
do anything?' rather than 'What did you do?'
     "I didn't do anything!  I was finishing my breakfast and they just 
came up and attacked me!  They even joked that I was a black cape 
planning a world takeover!"
     "You know Kevin, the bullies would stop picking on you if you stood 
up for yourself."
     Slowpoke dug his hands in his pockets.  "There were more of them 
than me, and they've got powers.  All that would have happened is it 
would have started a fight, and,"
     "And...?"
     "And they would have loved that, because everyone would have 
automatically blamed me.  Heads they win, tails I lose."
     Danisee gave the boy a doubtful look.  "Not everyone is out to get 
you, you know," he admonished.  Then he smiled.  "Just think about what 
I said, okay?  Don't worry, I'll look into things.  Everything will be 
fine."
     They went their separate ways.  Slowpoke thought about the 
counsellor's parting words.  They were fine words.  Even inspiring words.  
And the worst thing was that Slowpoke knew from past experience that if 
they had been spoken to someone else they might even mean something.  
Slowpoke was aware of how effective a counsellor John Danisee was, and 
how much effort and care he put into helping children.
     However Slowpoke had never psensed that sort of concern directed at 
him.  Not.  Fucking.  Once.  Not from Danisee.  Not from any other 
counsellor or welfare worker, whether good, bad or indifferent.  It had 
driven him mad trying to figure out what made him so different.  There 
had even been times over the years that Slowpoke had ruefully wished he 
had full telepathy himself, simply to do some intensive psnooping and 
get to the bottom of the matter, once and for all.  The fact that his 
biological father was a black cape simply didn't cut it as an excuse.  
Not when he had psensed the help that had been given to a number of 
other children with the same problem of heritage.
     And that was why John Danisee scared Slowpoke.  Not because he had 
ever physically menaced the teenager, and only peripherally because he 
was a potential threat to Slowpoke's secret identity.  Danisee's 
inexplicable behaviour brought Slowpoke up short with self doubt and 
made him ask himself, 'What is wrong with me?'
     
     
     Later that evening, in Chicago.
     The Crime Mime had everyone captured -- guests, organisers and 
security.  He'd just sauntered in and mimed a few movements, and it was 
done.  Everyone encased in those force fields of his.  Not for the first 
time Slowpoke marvelled at how the villain had been able to create so 
many prisons, so quickly, for so many moving targets.  He had a theory 
about that which he wanted to try.
     Slowpoke stepped out of his place of concealment to confront the 
malefactor in whiteface makeup.  "Stop right there, Crime Mime," he 
said.  "Surrender and you won't get hurt."
     
     
Next issue: 'Rematch'
     
==========
     
Character credits:
     All characters here are created by Saxon Brenton.
     
Author's notes:
     Not really *inspired* by the 20th High Concept Challenge ('Behind 
Blue Eyes' (about character motivation)), but certainly prodded along 
by it.
     As I mentioned in the last author's notes, the events of the first 
two issues were originally going to be published together in a premier 
issue.  The basic concept (and to a large extent, specific events) of 
this issue was planned out from the start.  However getting motivated to 
write up those events has been a pain, over and above my normal tendency 
towards procrastination.  How fortunate then that the 20th High Concept 
Challenge -- about exploring character motivation -- came along and 
dangled the perfect opportunity and excuse to force myself to finish 
this off.
     Now that all the setting up is finally done, here's a promotional 
blub from 2006 that was written concurrently with the series proposal.  
The exact setup has been tweaked slightly since then, but the high concept 
of 'troubled teenager with an obsessive superheroing addiction' remains.
     
| Kevin Duchamp is what's referred to as a 'troubled youth'.  His father 
| is a notorious if third-rate supervillain, and so Kevin was been taken 
| into institutional care, everybody *knows* that he's going to go bad, 
| and his life sucks. 
|  
| And like a lot of teenagers who have trouble coping, the only thing that 
| makes his life bearable is the solace he takes in his addiction.
|  
| No, not alcohol or hard drugs, or even running with a gang. 
|  
| Kevin suffers from obsessive-compulsive superheroing.
|  
| Coming this weekend from Eightfold:
|  
| 'My Father's Son'  written by Saxon Brenton
     
     
-----
Saxon Brenton   University of Technology, city library, Sydney Australia
     saxon.brenton at uts.edu.au     saxonbrenton at hotmail.com
"These 'no-nonsense' solutions of yours just don't hold water in a complex
world of jet-powered apes and time-travel." - Superman, JLA Classified #3