Chester Davenport grimaced as the burly federal agent hefted him to his feet. Manacles were none too gently slapped on his wrists as he was forcibly loaded into the back of the prisoner transport vehicle. Arrest was unpalatable enough for the average citizen, but he was The Whirligig- the Sultan of Spin, the Viceroy of Vertigo, one of the most notorious (and stylish) paragons of super-villainy of the last 25 years! His peers would never let him hear the end of this. Never mind the fact that the Whirligig had often bragged of his near-spotless record in evading capture from mundane authorities and superheroes alike; no, his fellow felons would take the greatest delight in pointing out that the Whirligig had been defeated by the Teen Templars, whose roster comprised of some of the youngest meta-humans currently active. Still, Chester could endure, for he could see the bigger picture; no one suspected that he had anticipated the possibility of this capture, and in fact had a grander scheme in place. Let the unenlightened hurl their slings and arrows, he mused. If it serves my ultimate goals, I can play the villain for a little while longer. In the meantime, it is nice to be the center of attention again…
Chester had long been considered arrogant, but he had always thought of himself as confident. After all, he had been gifted since birth with intelligence, athletic ability, and, at the risk of sounding vain, no small amount of good looks. Growing up, he naturally took to anything put in front of him, whether it be the arts, academics, or athletics. While never the best at any one endeavor, the fact that he could achieve success at so many caused him no end of pride. He fancied himself quite the Renaissance man. The downside to this was that though his accomplishments were prodigious, people started to take for granted his talents, expecting him to be good at everything, and would no longer applaud his victories, envious at how effortless he made it seem. While Chester stated that he didn’t care whether people noticed or not, secretly it galled him to no end. Whereas someone who was merely a scholar would get praise for his intellect, a jack-of-all-trades like himself received little to no recognition for his many and varied talents. When he finally reached high school, he decided that he should narrow his focus somewhat, and he chose the one field that he held a passion for more than any other- science.
Chester was fascinated by science, particularly the fields of physics and engineering. Knowledge was power, and physics was the knowledge of how the universe worked, whereas engineering was the knowledge of how to harness it. He studied textbooks with a voracious zeal, and when he wasn’t studying, he was tinkering with some gadget or another that he had created. It was during his sophomore year of college when he had found his Holy Grail, so to speak. He had been studying on how atomic and subatomic particles, such as electrons, spin and rotate around other particles when he
figured out a way to harness that boundless font of kinetic energy. He soon fashioned an invention he called the Gyroscopic Oscillation Activation Device, or the G.O.A.D. for short. A sleek vest, like the kind a riverboat gambler might wear, connecting to two forearm gauntlets, the G.O.A.D. allowed the wearer to achieve a myriad of incredible feats. First off, it allowed the wearer to move and react at incredible, superhuman speeds. After experimenting, Chester found that he could spin at an amazing rate; while spinning, he was almost totally impervious to physical attacks, could create and control whirlwinds and other aerial phenomena, burrow through the earth like a drill, or fly through the air. He soon even learned to spin and run at the same time, not unlike a top.
Equally impressive to the device’s physical aspects, if not more so, were it’s mental aspects. While wearing the device, Chester found he could alter a person’s perceptions, a power he most often used to make someone feel like everything was spinning around them, inducing severe vertigo and nausea. In fact, the device could even alter Chester’s own perceptions; he found he could shift his perspective from seeing in all directions at once (a feat of visual prowess that had several useful applications, by the way) to the traditional view shared by the uneducated masses. In fact, he sometimes had
to shift to normal sight while spinning, or else be subjected to sensory overload.
Finally, Chester had a way to make the world stand up and take notice! The respect and attention that was his due he could now take! And, if he wanted to acquire some wealth along the way as well, who could stop him? Thus did Chester Davenport find himself reborn as the wicked Whirligig!
The Whirligig quickly went on to become one of the most infamous super-criminals of the 1980’s. He enacted daring, blitzkrieg fast heists, and few of the decade’s superheroes could match his pace. He clashed with such worthy adversaries as Dr. Iota, Mr. Amazing, the Ocelot, Seahawk, and even Lugh, the Celtic God of Excellence. His plots and schemes were often foiled, but true defeats were few and far between, as he would simply dash off when things weren’t going his way. He was successful in part because, though many called him arrogant, he never deluded himself; he knew exactly what the limitations of his powers were, and he never underestimated his
opponents. He also never held a grudge against any of his many adversaries; revenge was a sucker’s game and he merely wanted wealth and prestige.
Still, everything, even a career in super-villainy, lose its charm eventually; to Chester, it was one more field he had excelled in. In 1989, quite happy with the reputation he had built up in the meta-human community, he decided it was time to move on to other things. He settled down, married a beautiful female “civilian” (the few ladies he had associated with in super-villain society were fun for a night on the town, but not the kind of girls you’d take home to mother), hung up the G.O.A.D., and started to live a quiet suburban life. The ill-gotten gains he had accumulated over the years, invested wisely in many offshore accounts, allowed the couple to live quite comfortably. Chester was, dare
he say, content with life; he had a care-free life, and his wife Jennifer soon bore him a son. While other folks had their attentions focused on the Clinton Administration, Chester was intrigued with the small infant boy that he had helped conceive; he now had something new to hold his attention. And, when things got slow, he could always trot out the old costume for a quick rush. Life was good.
Sadly, it all came to an end. After 14 years of marriage, the spark cooled between Chester and Jennifer. While still fond of each other, there was no longer any passion. One of Chester’s (non-villain) friends commented that that was because Chester would always be beholden to his first, truest love- himself. Most would be hard-pressed to argue that point. So, in the end, Chester and Jennifer entered a trial separation three years ago.
During the time since, Chester had engaged in much introspection. There was one last thing he needed his alter-ego to accomplish; it was the perfect time for the Whirligig to make his glorious return! There would be those who would claim this was nothing more than an overly dramatic mid-life crisis, but Chester bore no illusions about his motivations.
Naturally, though, the caper had gone awry. PRIDE, the federal agency in charge of dealing with super-villains and other threats, had sent no less than their top agent to oversee the task of taking Chester to the nearest holding facility. The Whirligig, seated against the rear wall of the transport vehicle, looked out the open door at the agent. “Mike Regal, I had no idea that PRIDE’s most decorated field agent had been reduced to errand boy.”
“Eh, slow day at the office. Besides, it’s not often PRIDE gets the opportunity to take the Whirligig into custody. You’ve only been captured, what, three times before?”
“Twice before, actually.”
“Twice in twenty-five years… That’s got to be a record. Hopefully, you won’t avoid a jail sentence this time.”
“Hope springs eternal, Agent Regal.”
Regal merely shook his head and ventured to the side of the vehicle, out of the Whirligig’s field of vision. This allowed Chester to view the quiet suburban main street that his battle with the Teen Templars had spilled into. The young heroes were still on the scene, of course; they clearly wanted to make sure their efforts in capturing the Whirligig weren’t in vain. Chester first spied Cosmic Girl signing autographs for a horde of young male admirers. The Templars’ most powerful member, Cosmic Girl was a pretty young blonde who allegedly could harness the power of a star. Enhanced strength and durability, flight and powers of energy manipulation made her a formidable force of justice. Her abilities, however, were probably not what had gathered the crowd. Her costume was a revealing black leotard-like outfit decorated with a field of stars. Accentuating her otherwise bare legs (in Chester’s day, any self-respecting super-heroine would’ve added a skirt) were gold, knee-high go-go boots, which matched her cape and gloves. Still, her skimpy attire did a good job or distracting the hormone-ridden teenagers, allowing the clean-up of Main Street to get underway without them getting underfoot.
Aiding the repair efforts was the Templars’ resident martial artist, the Iron Mantis. Able to focus his chi to achieve a variety of super-human effects, he could make himself incredibly resilient to physical damage, crush stone with his bare hands, make prodigious leaps and other feats normally relegated to the more over-the-top martial arts movies. He also had mastered a number of Oriental weapons, making him incredibly versatile in combat. He was currently engaged in helping to clear what little rubble there was; Chester had always prided himself in leaving little collateral damage and zero civilian casualties
in the wake of his escapades. Mantis’s only concession to the costumed tradition of his peers were gray martial arts pants and the Chinese kanji for strength painted on his face. Iron Mantis had a quiet stoicism about him; the same could not be said for his one teammate.
Polecat, the sidekick to the Red Archer, was leaning against the Templars’ hover-bike, flirting with some of the local girls. Despite not possessing any super-human abilities, unlike his teammates, the young hero was a master of the quarterstaff, serving as Little John to the Archer’s Robin Hood. Polecat would’ve been quite at home in Sherwood Forest, Chester imagined, the boy’s brown hair spilling from the top of the open-hooded
cowl of his green and brown costume. The lad had removed his quarterstaff from the sling on his back and was holding it out to his female audience, inviting them to touch it. The girls giggled, prompting Polecat to smile at the serious-looking young woman standing at the rear of the hover-bike.
“See, Mako, they like it. Why don’t you ever give me this kind of attention?”
Chester watched as the young heroine rolled her eyes and returned to looking impatient. An orphan, the young girl would’ve died of the rare lung disease she once had, but fortunately she came to the attention of the aquatic alien Seahawk. He had given her an experimental gene treatment which cured her, but also had some unintended side effects- she was now completely amphibious, and possessed remarkable physical abilities not unlike those of her namesake. She seemed to be somewhat uncomfortable; whether this was due to the fact that she was out of her element, so to speak, or because she was forced to stand still and wait was unclear. Her black hair seemed to be constantly damp, and her costume, essentially a blue and black wetsuit, showed off her athletic swimmers build. While attractive enough, Mako had not gathered the crowd that Cosmic Girl had; it’s very disconcerting for a young man when a pretty girl smiles to reveal a row of razor-sharp teeth. To her credit, Mako didn’t seem to mind the lack of attention.
Chester frowned; there appeared to be a member missing. One would think the Templar directly responsible for the Whirligig’s capture would be on hand to take the credit. Maybe he’s embarrassed. That would be rich. Chester sighed and looked down at his costume. It was a full length purple bodysuit, with a series of green circles coming together in the center of the chest to form a pattern not unlike a bulls-eye. It was a far cry from his original costume, a conservative number in blue and gray, but it served the purpose for which he had set out to do today. Chester sighed again and wished that his hands hadn’t been shackled; his Ronald Reagan-esque hair had gotten mussed in the fight and he need to straighten his purple domino mask. It was while trying to blow a stray lock of hair back into place when he heard a familiar voice come from the side of the transport vehicle.
“Umm… Excuse me, Mister- I mean, Agent Regal, sir? I know you have y-your, uh, duty to do, but I was maybe kind of wondering if I could, um, talk to the prisoner? If that’s o-okay?”
“No problem, kid. You’re the hero of the hour, after all.”
“T-thank you, sir.”
The speaker then stepped into view. The young man’s long brown hair contrasted with the blue domino mask he wore, his brown eyes peering from behind. The rest of his “costume”, if you could call it that, consisted of baggy blue jeans, blue fingerless gloves, and a red t-shirt, emblazoned in the center with a blue circle with several curved lines spiraling outward.
The young man was a superhero- a speedster, to be precise. He possessed powers remarkably similar to the Whirligig’s, but the lad didn’t need a device, unlike Chester. Their powers were so similar, in fact, that when the young man made his heroic debut two years ago, an onlooker quipped, “That kid’s a regular junior Whirligig!” The press ran with it, and the name Whirligig Jr. stuck. It was more appropriate than anyone could have imagined.
“Hey, dad.”
Chester still couldn’t quite understand it- his son, a superhero? He had known for some time, of course, but he still had trouble wrapping his head around the notion. Ever since he was a little boy, no one would have accused Randall Davenport of being destined for greatness. He had been a small, timid, shy, sickly, spindly twig of a lad who seemed nervous of everything around him. The boy was always ill, looking for the entire world like he had taken one too many rides on a tilt-a-whirl. Chester and Jennifer had spared no
expense in treatment, but every doctor and specialist they saw could find nothing physically wrong with the child. So, they carried on as best they could, getting Randall a prescription for motion sickness pills and hoping he would get better.
Aside from the lad’s constant nausea, he was very well behaved. Granted, when you have a constant case of mild vertigo; you really don’t have the energy for mischief. The few times the boy did get into trouble, Chester had found the lad disciplining himself, quietly standing in the corner, leaning his head against the wall. This usually made Chester even angrier than the trouble Randall had caused. No son of Chester’s would so meekly surrender. He was going to try and speak his mind in an attempt to set the boy straight, but his heart was never in it. Randall just always looked so… defeated. And that’s how it always was for the boy. He had few friends throughout elementary school; most of the children just teased him. He did alright as far as academics were concerned, though Randall’s teachers often mentioned how distracted he seemed, not to mention the occasional vomiting incident in class.
However, when Randall reached seventh grade, something changed. He no longer looked like he was constantly dizzy. Jennifer had merely said that it was puberty taking hold and evening the boy out, but Chester wasn’t so sure. His theory was that Randall had somehow inherited the powers of the G.O.A.D.; perhaps the constant exposure had altered Chester’s genes to some small degree, and he had passed them onto his son. The reason the boy was so sick was because the energy was still building, not sure how to
properly manifest itself. When seventh grade came along, Randall’s physiology must’ve changed enough to give him some measure of control. Chester had no proof that this was the time the boy’s powers took root, but there was one incident that supported his theory. One day, over two-thirds of Randall’s gym class had suddenly, mysteriously gotten violently ill. Rumor had it that the janitor had used record amounts of sawdust on the gym floor that day to clean up the mess. Randall was one of only eight students that were fine.
Though Randall’s health had improved, he still seemed very shy and, at times, sullen. Granted, many teenagers act that way, but Chester couldn’t understand. He was always comfortable in social situations, so why wasn’t Randall? The boy never went out, not that he had many friends to go out with, and he certainly never received any phone calls. He’d usually just go to his room, reading a book or listening to the latest alternative rock band that happened to be popular. Now that the boy’s constitution wasn’t so fragile, Chester had started engaging the lad in some father-son activities. Unfortunately, these were cut short by the Davenports’ marital troubles. Chester had moved out, leaving Randall in Jennifer’s custody, but had tried to visit as often as he could. Considering the boy now wanted to be a costumed crime fighter, Chester clearly had not visited enough, in his opinion.
“Hello, Randall.”
“Dad! First off, I’ve told you a hundred times to call me Randy. Second, I’m in costume, and in public! Do you want to totally blow my secret identity?!?”
“Son, you call yourself the Whirligig Jr., and my real name’s a matter of public record for anyone who bothers to dig deep enough. This isn’t exactly the most masterful of subterfuge.”
“O-okay. Fair enough. But what exactly are you doing here?”
“I was robbing NOVA Labs, and then I fought you and your team. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“But WHY?!? I mean, are you trying to embarrass me?”
“Embarrass you?”
“Yes! You do know our headquarters is nearby, right?”
Chester feigned surprise. “Is it? I must’ve forgotten….”
“Well, it is. Templar Terrace is less than three miles east of here.”
“Templar Terrace. Hmmph! Honestly, you heroes and your need for alliteration….”
“I can’t believe my dad decided to go on a crime spree right next door to my headquarters. This is the worst day of my life!”
“Randall, calm down and stop being so melodramatic. This wasn’t about you.”
“You’re a public menace! You realize that, right?”
“Menace? Please. There was little damage to the town, and no one was hurt.”
“Polecat thinks you may’ve broken one of his ribs.”
Father and son looked over at Polecat, who was currently making a grand show of pointing out his alleged injury to one of his female admirers in what was clearly a blatant attempt to elicit sympathy.
“Polecat’s a drama queen.”
Randall ignored his father and continued his ranting. “My dad, robbing NOVA Labs… I can’t believe this….”
“Well, it’s a good thing you stopped me then, isn’t it?”
Chester’s sarcastic tone must’ve been lost on Randall, because the boy immediately started to perk up. “Hey, yeah. I did, didn’t I?”
The plan had been simple. NOVA Labs, under the guidance of Dr. Julius S. McGuffin, had developed a prototype laser weapon, codenamed Baldur, after the Norse God of Light. While lasers were common among superheroes and villains alike, they were difficult and inefficient to reproduce in meaningful quantities. The Baldur, on the other hand, promised to be easily mass produced. The Whirligig’s plot was to steal the prototype and then auction it off on the black market.
The break-in itself was incredibly straightforward. Zipping through the facility at super-speed, he was practically invisible to guards and security cameras alike. By vibrating his body at a particular frequency, the Whirligig had shifted his molecules slightly out of phase, allowing him to pass through the walls and doors of the facility like a ghost. The Whirligig quickly made his way to the locked lab where the Baldur was being kept. The technicians had left it out on the workstation, clearly trusting the security protocols that Chester had already bypassed. He grabbed the laser and placed it in a specially insulated case that would protect it no matter how fast he moved. No sense in damaging it until after I’ve sold it. Just as he was about to exit the lab, an alarm sounded.
Must’ve been a motion sensor. Time to move fast; fortunately, that’s my specialty. By the time security had arrived at the lab, the Whirligig had already made it outside.
It was at the corner of one of NOVA Labs’ rear walls when Chester saw a blur off in the distance. He immediately started spinning, focusing on the approaching adversary. As it drew closer, Chester could see it was a human-sized red and blue shape moving at an incredible speed. I should’ve known he’d be the first to get here. Chester maintained his position, holding the bag in his right hand and keeping the wall on his right side (relatively speaking, of course) as the Whirligig Jr. made his approach.
Chester could see that the boy was spinning as well. He could turn that to his advantage, but it would take precise timing. Once the boy got close, Chester stopped spinning and managed to grab Whirligig Jr.’s left arm with his free hand. This stopped the lad’s own spinning, but not his momentum; the Whirligig pivoted and swung the boy into the wall. Chester couldn’t help but smirk as Randall crumpled to the ground. Some kids just need a push in the right direction. Chester stood over his son.
“Ooh… That looks painful. Perhaps you should consult a spin doctor?”
The young speedster’s only response was a soft groan, though whether it was because of the pain or the pun was anyone’s guess.
“Now, son, I want you to stay here and think about what you’ve done. To think there used to be a time when I didn’t need to tell you to stand in the corner.”
With that, the Whirligig dashed off past NOVA Labs’ security fence and into the fields beyond. He didn’t get far, however, before a large shape landed hard on the ground a mere five yards away- the Iron Mantis. The young martial artist was brandishing a kusari-gama, essentially a length of metal chain connected to a hook, in both hands and assumed an offensive stance but made no move towards Chester; like any good martial artist, he was waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
A mechanical hum drew the Whirligig’s attention skyward; Polecat and Mako had arrived via the Templars’ hover-bike. Polecat lowered the vehicle to a safe distance, allowing Mako to leap off and land five feet behind Chester, then swung wide and regained altitude, no doubt to get a bird’s-eye view of the terrain to ensure that this was a solo villain act and not part of a larger assault.
Chester turned towards Mako, the more immediate threat of the two heroes, but had yet to resume spinning. Like the Mantis, he too was waiting for an opportune moment; he’d spin when he was ready. Before he could take any action against the advancing aquatic heroine, a length of chain looped around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Chester looked over his shoulder to see Iron Mantis holding the other end of the chain, ready to reel him in. The Whirligig smiled broadly at the martial artist; now he was ready.
The sudden circular movement caught the martial artist off-guard. Mantis had not braced himself and was swept off his feet, though he retained a tight grip on the chain. Chester had hoped for that. The momentum sent Iron Mantis careening into Mako, knocking her out, yet the Mantis was still furiously holding onto his end of the chain.
Chester, in the meantime, had removed the chain from his torso and held it tightly in his left hand. Like a champion in the hammer throw, he continued to spin, and then released the chain, sending the Iron Mantis flying. He soared fifty yards before crashing into a tree, falling to the ground unconscious.
Chester then noticed that Polecat had returned, having parked the hover-bike some distance away, and was charging the Whirligig, staff at the ready. He sprinted full out and, once he was within about ten feet of the Whirligig, planted his staff into the ground and vaulted himself into the air. Chester hadn’t expected that. On a horizontal plane, he was nearly invulnerable while spinning, but he had never been attacked from above before, let alone have a hundred-and-eighty-five pound teenager drop on his head. It soon became apparent, however, that Polecat was instead aiming at the spot immediately
behind Chester, no doubt planning to trip him with the quarterstaff once the staff-wielding hero touched down. A good plan, but one that lost effectiveness against someone who could see in all directions if he wanted to. Chester decided turnabout was fair play and, like a trained figure skater, dropped low with one leg extended, spinning all the while. As soon as Polecat touched down, he was immediately knocked off his feet, landing on his back. Chester smiled as he resumed his standing position, but the smile was short-lived as Polecat, his formidable training evident, leapt from his prone position to a standing battle stance.
Polecat thrust his staff forward in several feints, probing to see if there were any weak points in the Whirligig’s rotations. Chester merely spun faster, focusing on creating a vortex. Polecat never realized what was happening until it was too late; he dropped his staff, both hands reaching for his throat. He dropped to his knees, gasping heavily, before finally passing out from the lack of oxygen. Once Chester was sure the lad was unconscious, he relaxed his rotations, allowing air back into the immediate area so the boy wouldn’t asphyxiate. After all, he was a villain, not a murderer. It was then that the
Whirligig spied a streak of light hurtling his way. The Templars’ most powerful member had finally arrived, and boy, was she pissed.
Glowing furiously with the fire of a star, Cosmic Girl sped towards him, but stopped her advance some distance away. Whether this was because she was aware of what had already happened to her teammates when they attempted close range combat or was naturally cautious, Chester couldn’t say, but he was glad nonetheless. Given her incredible strength, he wasn’t confident of being able to weather one of her strikes in a physical confrontation. It was similar to a case of unstoppable force versus immoveable object; she may have walked away with a broken hand, or she may have broken every bone in Chester’s all too human body. Cosmic Girl apparently had similar doubts, for she hung back and fired a barrage of cosmic-powered blasts in his direction. While Chester certainly couldn’t deflect energy beams, he could dodge them easily enough, given the
speed at his disposal.
After he had evaded several volleys, Cosmic Girl decided to go for broke. She began to fly straight at Chester, opting to test his impervious spin field after all. Chester, in turn, focused on creating a vertigo field; as Cosmic Girl drew close, her flight became erratic, and she soon fell to the ground, moaning and clutching her stomach. Chester stopped spinning and nonchalantly walked over to the fallen heroine.
“My dear, you don’t look well at all. It looks like you’ve taken a… turn for the
worse?”
Chester raised his left hand, getting ready to deliver the coup de grace. While one punch wouldn’t harm her, a couple of hundred delivered at super-speed should do the trick.
“I do so hate to strike a lady, but I can’t have you following me. I dare say, however, I thought you Templars would’ve given me more of a fight. This is almost… anticlimactic.”
A voice seemed to come from nowhere. “Then get ready for the surprise twist.”
A gust of wind seemed to dash by Chester. He looked down at his right hand; the bag was gone. He turned his attention back to where Cosmic Girl had been, and now she too had disappeared. In her place was the Whirligig Jr., having gotten his second wind and ready to get back into the fight.
“You speedsters and your rapid healing can be such a nuisance. Come to save the damsel in distress, hmm? How gallant.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
With that, the Whirligig took off at full speed, with his son in hot pursuit. The chase soon took the two to the nearby suburban town of Claremont Hills, where it appeared that PRIDE was already on the scene, establishing a perimeter. Chester dashed over to a construction site where, spinning furiously to create a whirlwind, he drifted towards a pile of cinderblocks, drawing several into his wake. When Randall got close, Chester slowed,
flinging the cinderblocks at his prodigal son. The boy’s hand flashed out with blinding speed, instantly pulverizing the blocks to dust. The boy then immediately started circling Chester, cutting off any means of lateral escape. Chester sighed; Randall must’ve forgotten that he could drill through the ground or fly away. Let’s see where he’s going with this. Chester was spinning, Randall was spinning, and, in turn, the son was revolving around the father. And then, something happened that took Chester by surprise; the boy
stopped his circular path and instead dashed forward, passing through Chester. Did he… Did he just phase through me? What's he trying to accomplish? It was then he noticed that he now appeared to move at normal speed and the world was lilting slowly around him. The G.O.A.D. was still working, wasn’t it? He turned to Randall, who also seemed to be moving at normal speed.
“What the devil is this?”
“A little something I’ve been working on, a perception twist, kind of like what you do with the dizziness thing.”
“But I’m still moving at super-speed, regardless of what I perceive. Nice trick, but what’s this supposed to accomplish?”
“Buy me enough time to get a clear shot for this.”
Randall’s arm shot forward in an open-palmed thrust, hitting Chester smack on the chest. Bull’s-eye. Any doubts about whether or not they were moving at super-speed were erased; the impact from the blow was incredible. Chester had been knocked to the ground, noticing that his perception was back to normal, and that he also had stopped moving fast. He went to reactivate the G.O.A.D. when he noticed that his gauntlets were gone. He looked up at his son; the device was in the boy’s hand. The jig, as they say, was up.
Back in the here and now, Chester looked out from his seat in the transport vehicle at his son. “My son, a superhero. Why couldn’t you just smoke pot?”
Randy rolled his eyes. “Dad…”
“You’re not a pothead, are you?”
“Dad!”
“Because I’d be cool with that. I even know a guy who could hook you up.”
“Oh, for…”
“I used to work with this hippie wannabe, Acid Reign? Nice fellow. Why, one time, he and I teamed up….”
“Dad, no one wants to hear about how you and your crony teamed up to kidnap Whitesnake.”
“For the record, it was Poison, Bret Michaels in particular. However, that caper was merely a distraction for our ultimate goal….”
“Whatever. No one cares about Poison.”
“Now, now, I wouldn’t say that. Your mother and I conceived you while listening to Every Rose Has its Thorn…”
Randy winced and put his hand to his forehead. “Ow. Yeah, my brain is definitely scarred now. Thanks for that mental image. Can we please change the subject?”
“Very well.” Chester sighed. “One should think I shall never live down this
embarrassment. At least you didn’t bring that pet of yours….”
“Hey! What’s wrong with the Whirli-goat?!?”
“In my day, no teen hero would’ve been caught dead with a super-pet, let alone a goat.”
“In your day, I would’ve called myself ‘Whyrl’ and been all extreme and tacky in a grunge fashion. Besides, the Whirli-goat is awesome. He can run up to five hundred miles per hour, and he could eat a Buick in under an hour if he wanted to.”
“Well, that makes things decidedly less absurd. I’m so glad that your pet has incredible powers of mastication.”
Randall snickered, prompting a disapproving glare from Chester. “Oh, ha-ha. Mastication sounds much like that other word. No wonder you don’t see the silliness of the Whirli-goat.”
“But girls love the goat! They think he’s cute. Cosmic Girl especially thinks he’s adorable.”
Chester snorted. “Cosmic Girl. How does her father let her out of the house dressed like that?”
“She doesn’t have a father. She’s a mass of sentient cosmic energy that took the form of a teenage girl so she could experience the human condition.”
“Well, that explains a few things, like why she isn‘t chilly in that get-up. This team of yours, are you the leader?”
“The Templars aren’t like that. We’re just a group of like minded teens with powers who hang out together and save the world. We don’t really have a leader.”
“That’s painfully obvious, what with the haphazard way you kids tried to bring me in.”
“What?”
“You all rushed in with no plan, no tactics whatsoever aside from ‘Let’s get him!’ The only time anything even remotely close to teamwork was evident was between Mako and the Mantis, and that seemed to happen by accident.”
“We still stopped you, didn’t we?”
“Yes, because you got lucky. Your little ace-in-the-hole trick with the perception caught me off guard, but I’ll be ready for it next time.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“We’ll see. Does your team know the reason why you’re here?”
“Well, I didn’t tell them all the details, but they’ve probably figured it out. That’s what friends tend to do.”
“Interesting. Tell me, son, why must you persist in this hero foolishness? Is it because your mother and I didn’t give you enough attention?”
“You think this is for attention?”
“You dress yourself in bright, primary colors and run around performing public acts of derring-do. How could it not be for attention?”
“Look who’s talking.”
“This isn’t about me, but for your information, leading criminal profilers have described me as an intellectual narcissist with a need for self-aggrandizement. What’s your excuse?”
“Well, I… help people.”
“Please. You merely enforce the status quo.”
“What? I stop super-villains.”
“Exactly. Without super-heroes, there’d be no villains.”
“What are you talking about? There’ve been super-villains for about sixty years.”
“But not until after the first super-hero debuted in 1938. The same goes for alien invasions. Villains need heroes, and vice versa. It brings out the best in everyone involved. Aside from that, and the occasional disaster relief efforts, you don’t enact real change.”
“Well, I mean, the first super-heroes fought Nazis too, right?”
“If that’s the case, then why don’t the heroes today follow their example? Go to some third-world nation and oust the dictator in charge?”
Randall shook his head. “We can’t do that. Mankind must choose their own destiny.”
“So, you admit you’re above humanity?”
“What? No.”
“But your statement implied that you don’t see yourself as part of the regular population. Surely you don’t see yourself as beneath them?”
“No… Heroes and the people we protect are… um… separate, but….”
“Separate, but equal? That worked so well in the 1950’s. That’s the problem. You heroes think too small.”
“What about you? You’d think you’d try some grand scheme at world domination, but instead you just engage in these petty heists.”
“Petty? I engage in daring heists. And again, this isn’t about me. I have no desire for world domination. I’m arrogant, but not megalomaniacal.”
Randall just shook his head, looking disappointed. He spared a look at his team before addressing his father once more. “You super-villains are all alike. I don’t see why you can’t just get along with everyone….”
Realization dawned on Chester. “Now I see what this is about! You’re upset because I don’t live up to your team’s expectations!”
Randall looked at his father incredulously. “… What?!?”
“As the only one in your group that has both a mother and a father, you wish I was more like the common perception of what a family should be like.”
“What makes you think I’m the only one of the Templars who has both a mom and dad?”
“Well, you just told me about Cosmic Girl, and I already knew Mako was an orphan. I bet the Mantis over there was raised and trained in the martial arts by a secret order of monks in Asia, right?”
Randall’s jaw dropped, prompting Chester to continue. “And Polecat is the Red Archer’s sidekick. I’d bet my life that Polecat’s parents were killed by criminals, and the Archer, who’s probably a billionaire playboy in his secret identity, adopted the boy as his ward so he could train him to fight crime. How close am I?”
“Uh, I… It’s not… Ermmm… You… D’oh.”
“Thought so. Your merry little band probably has a preconceived notion of what a normal family should be like, and so look to you. Unfortunately, I’m not the typical father.”
“But would that be so bad? Why can’t you get a normal job? You’re smart enough to do anything you want.”
“Randall….”
“You could get a normal job, and you and mom could get back together….”
“Randy.” The boy stopped and looked directly at his father. “Randy, you know it doesn’t work like that.”
“I know.”
“We don’t blame you for anything. Your mother and I just grew apart; it wasn’t about you.”
Randall hung his head down, then shook it fiercely and looked back at his father, anger on his face. “No. No, you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to rob NOVA Labs, fight my team, my friends, and then act like you’re my shrink!”
“Well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you would start thinking about your future and consider something more practical than being a super-hero.”
“Why can’t you just accept that this is what I want to do?”
“Oh, like your acceptance of me?”
“That’s different. You’re a super-villain; what you do is….”
“What? Wrong? Who are you to judge?”
“That’s kind of funny considering you were telling me I was above humanity a little bit ago. No, society says you’re wrong.”
Chester snorted derisively. “And we all know society is perfect with no need for any kind of change. Face it, society doesn’t want to change. People resent you for acting so self-righteous. That’s part of the reason you see all the technical advances- so that society can make you and your fellow heroes obsolete. Why, twenty years ago, a hand-held device that could communicate wirelessly over thousands of miles while simultaneously holding all manner of information was the province of heroes and villains alone; now that kind of technology is found in a simple common cell phone. And that doesn’t even begin to cover what the governments of the world would like to do….”
“Well, the governments should worry.”
Chester allowed himself a small smile. “Now you’re starting to sound like your old man!"
“I meant those conspiratorial groups we always run afoul of.”
“Sure you did.” Chester paused and looked out the vehicle again. “They’ll never trust you, you know.”
“The government? Well what can you do?”
“No. I meant your team.”
Randy glared at his father. “What?!?”
“You said they probably know about us. How long before they start to wonder if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree? They’ll be waiting for you to betray them.”
Rage simmered on Randy’s face. “And who the hell’s fault is it for them thinking that? But that doesn’t matter. I’ve earned their trust, and I will continue to earn their trust, because that trust means more to me than anything. I will die before I betray that trust, and I know in my heart they feel the same about me.”
“Stirring words, but sadly, life isn’t that simple.”
“It can be.”
Chester shook his head. “Randall, this is why you shouldn’t be a superhero. It’s just a fad. You overreact, you see things in just black and white. You simply don’t know enough about things to make good judgments yet.”
“But I’ve had powers for almost four years! The Valor Corps’ newest member, Fireworx, he only got his powers six months ago!”
“True, but, unless, I read that interview he conducted in Time Magazine wrong, he’s 28 years old. While you may have more practical experience with your powers, he has more life experience. His values are already set, more or less. He’s not still learning about himself and the world. He has conviction.”
Randall shook his head. “Conviction. Whatever. Like you ever needed conviction….”
“I’m a super-villain. I don’t need conviction. Unlike heroes, I’m not motivated by abstract concepts like justice. I’m concerned with things like pride, envy, greed, and all those other sins. But this isn’t about me….”
Randall clenched his fists, and his face grew red. “IT’S ALWAYS ABOUT YOU! You don’t think I see what you’re doing? You come here, acting like you’re so smart, lording your vaunted intelligence over everyone. When you can’t twist peoples perceptions with that stupid gizmo of yours, you try and do it with words. Well, if you’re so goddamned smart, how come you’re in there and I’m out here?!?”
Chester remained silent, as Randy started pacing furiously. “You want me to change the world? Fine. The first thing I’m doing when I get home is to look for your notes. I’m going to build a counter-device that’ll jam that stupid G.O.A.D., even if that means reading every science book in the Library of Congress at super-speed to make sense of the damned thing. Then, I’m going to mass produce it at super-speed and then give one to every law enforcement agency in the country so you can never pull something like this
again!”
“So, you’ll have stopped one villain. Big deal. What then?”
“I have years ahead of me, and I can perform tasks a hundred times faster than a normal human; with my friends by my side, we WILL make a difference.”
Chester gave the boy a patronizing smile. “Sure you will.”
Randall sighed. “I don’t understand you, Dad. Part of me hopes I never will.” Randall turned towards Mike Regal. “Agent Regal, I think I’m done here. Thank you very much, sir.” He then extended his hand, which the agent shook.
“No problem, kid. You just do me a favor- you Templars ever need hand, whether it’s info or back-up, you give PRIDE a call, okay?”
“Will do.” With that, Randall turned, raised his hand and snapped his fingers; the Templars all focused on him almost immediately. Chester raised an eyebrow. Don’t have a leader, indeed. Cosmic Girl separated herself from her admirers and flew towards the young speedster. She looked at him with concern and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Randall placed his hand on hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
Cosmic Girl leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek, then smiled playfully and gave him a wink. “Race you back to the Terrace?”
Randall returned the smile. “You’re on.”
Cosmic Girl rose into the air and then shot off like a comet. Iron Mantis was next, making a huge leap. Randall turned to his father one last time. “See you, Dad.” Then he sped off into the distance. Polecat and Mako were the last to leave, climbing onto the hover-bike as it rose into the air and then flew in the direction of their teammates. Agent Regal smiled as the young heroes departed, a look of envy mixed with admiration on his face. Regal turned towards Chester. “You know, that kid of yours is really something.” Chester merely grunted. Agent Regal just shrugged and closed the door. In the darkness of the transport vehicle, Chester finally relaxed. He leaned back against the wall, a smile splashing across his face.
“Yeah. Yeah, he sure is.”
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