A Superhero's Revenge Page 8

  “I first met Gregory twenty years ago,” said Techno. “I was a young man, fresh out of college and working in IT as a computer programmer. The two of us, although from different generations, nonetheless hit it off well, because Gregory was also interested in technology and computer programming. Eventually, he began seeking my assistance with problems he ran into during his superhero career that required a tech head to deal with, assistance I was happy to provide at first because I thought he was a great hero and I was willing to do whatever I needed in order to help him make Rumsfeld a safer place for everyone.”

  I was struck at how much Techno and Grandfather’s relationship resembled mine and Kyle’s. Kyle was my go-to tech guy for whenever I needed help with technology, just like Techno had been for Grandfather. It reminded me of the saying Dad always told me, about how history repeats. It was a weird echo at any rate.

  “Our partnership was very successful,” said Techno. “Together, we took down many dangerous threats to Rumsfeld, such as Virus, a supervillain who could turn into a computer virus and had taken control of the city’s power supply in an effort to enrich himself. We were an unstoppable team, with his powers and my brains, to the point where a lot of people even began calling me his sidekick. I never formally worked for him like that, of course, but we were closer than brothers at that point and were willing to defend each other whenever we were in danger.”

  Techno actually sounded nostalgic as he spoke, though I figured it was against his will, because he certainly didn’t sound happy as he recounted his past. Maybe he was conflicted, because on one hand these were happy memories he was reliving, but on the other hand he didn’t like Grandfather anymore and didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. I guess he was still more human than he let on.

  “Things changed, though, on a hot summer day in July, about a year before Gregory disappeared,” said Techno. “Have you heard of the supervillain Holes?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I said. “I haven’t just heard of him. I fought him yesterday.”

  “Yes, I saw the news article about his escape from prison,” said Techno. He grimaced. “Didn’t expect him to break out of prison. Doesn’t help that none of the news sources I read explained how he got his powers back. That’s a trick I’d like to learn the secret to.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Can you continue your story, please?”

  “Sure,” said Techno. “Sorry for the digression. I hate Holes almost as much as Gregory, because Holes is just as guilty for what happened to me as Gregory. If we hadn’t run into him … things might have been different.”

  Techno sighed. “Anyway, like I said, it was on a hot July day, very much like today. Holes appeared in downtown Rumsfeld, where he tried to rob the Rumsfeld First National Bank. As usual, Gregory went to confront him as soon as he heard the news and the two of them clashed. It was an intense, but inconclusive, battle, because Holes ran as soon as the police showed up, even though my understanding is that he had the upper hand against Gregory due to his powers. Gregory got frustrated by this and went to visit me, thinking I might be able to build a weapon or something he could use to nullify Holes’ powers.”

  “Did you?” I said.

  “Of course not,” said Techno. “I’m smart and talented, but I’m no chemist. Still, I considered Gregory a friend, so I tried to help him as best as I could, though our brainstorming session wasn’t very fruitful, so Gregory left to go to dinner with his family. As for me, I stayed in my apartment and focused on completing a programming project I’d put off all week. I was by myself and defenseless. This was before I cared about my security, though I should have cared even before I was attacked.”

  “Attacked?” I said. “By who?”

  “Holes,” said Techno. He touched his eye. “Holes was always a pragmatic sort, unlike most supervillains. He was well aware of my partnership with Gregory and he was afraid that I might have some kind of tech I could use to help Gregory beat him. As soon as Gregory left, Holes entered my apartment and nearly killed me.”

  I looked at Techno’s mechanical limbs. “Is that where you got these limbs?”

  Techno nodded. He raised his mechanical arm and rotated it in its socket. “Yep. Even back then, Holes knew how to use his powers to inflict maximum damage. Only reason I didn’t die was because my neighbor heard the commotion and called the police, though by the time the police got there, Holes was long gone. The police rushed me to the hospital, but they were too late to save all of my body parts.”

  “What did Gregory do?” I said. “Did he visit you when he heard what happened?”

  “And here is the part of the story where Gregory reveals himself for the jerk he really was,” Techno said. “He didn’t show up at all. He didn’t call or text me or do anything to show that he even knew I had nearly been killed by one of his enemies and was bleeding out enough blood to flood the streets of Rumsfeld. Nah, dumb bastard didn’t show up until two days later, and he didn’t even have an excuse for why he didn’t show up quicker.”

  I looked at TW. “TW, what took Grandfather so long to check on Techno? Did something come up or—”

  “It doesn’t matter why,” Techno interrupted before TW could say anything. “All that matters is that Gregory and I had a big fight, which ended with our friendship being completely shattered. Afterward, I began work on prosthetics that would replace my missing limbs, though I needed help from a prosthetics company which had all of the necessary materials that I lacked. Still, from that point on, I didn’t help Gregory and he never came to me for help, and for good riddance.”

  I shifted uncomfortably where I stood. “And you blame Grandfather for what Holes did?”

  “Yeah, I do,” said Techno. His mechanical hand curled into a ball. “If Gregory hadn’t let the jerk get away, Holes would never have come after me. I would still be fully human, instead of this grotesque cyborg mockery that I have to live with every day of my life.”

  I wanted to ask TW for his perspective on the matter, but something told me that Techno was not going to listen to anything TW said. Or rather, he had already listened to TW’s side of the story and didn’t care about it. I would still have to ask TW about it later, though, because I was sure there was more to the story than what Techno had shared with me.

  “Anyway, that’s the story,” said Techno. “Full of drama, highs and lows … it makes all of those superhero movies everyone loves watching look boring by comparison, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I—”

  “I don’t care what you think,” Techno said. “You know my story. And now you know why I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “But if you help me, I could beat Holes,” I said. “Now that Holes is back, he’s probably going to come after you again.”

  “If he tries, I’ll kill that jerk on the spot,” said Techno. “Disintegration lasers, remember?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Again, don’t care,” said Techno. “Now, this is the last time I’m going to say this: Leave. Or I really will disintegrate you on the spot.”

  I bit my lower lip. I found Techno’s constant orders to leave grating, but at the same time, there was no way I could force him to help me. If he didn’t want to help me, then he didn’t have to, and that was that, however much I wished it wasn’t.

  So I nodded and said, “All right. I understand why you don’t want to help me, even though I think you’re wrong. But if you don’t want to do it, that’s your call. I’ll just go look for help somewhere else.”

  “Good,” said Techno. His chair swiveled around once more, its back to me. “Door’s unlocked. Oh, and one last thing: Don’t come back. Ever.”

  TW flashed back into the Watch and I took off my costume before I opened the door and left the apartment, with a lot of questions on my mind and a feeling that beating Holes was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TW said nothing at all until I got back to the house and into
my room. It was pretty clear to me that TW intensely disagreed with Techno’s characterization of Grandfather and, hey, I didn’t quite agree with it myself. After all, I still hadn’t heard TW’s side of the story, which might provide some context or information that Techno either didn’t know or had left out of his story for his own reasons.

  As soon as I closed the door to my room, TW flashed into existence before me. He floated up toward the ceiling, a frustrated and disappointed look on his face.

  “I take it that you didn’t agree with Techno’s story?” I said, looking up at TW.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” said TW. “His story was … I mean, he had the basic facts right. Gregory did go to his apartment, he really was attacked by Holes, and, I am sad to say, Gregory didn’t check on him until a couple of days later. But he completely misinterpreted why Gregory was late. It had nothing to do with him being a ‘glory hog’ or whatever. That is simply ridiculous.”

  I sat down on my bed and leaned back on my hands. “Then what did take Grandfather so long to check on Techno? Surely it couldn’t have been that important, could it?”

  “It was,” said TW. “There was another supervillain attack that very night on the other side of Rumsfeld. It was Holes’ associate, a supervillain known as Calamity Jane, who got into a very big fight with Gregory. Gregory won, but he had taken such a beating that he had to spend the next couple of days in bed. He couldn’t even go to Marge for healing, though if he did, it wouldn’t have helped, because his injuries were extensive and not easily healed even by her powers.”

  “So the reason Grandfather didn’t check on his best friend was because he was also really badly injured?”

  “More or less,” said TW. “But as soon as he heard the news that Techno had been attacked by Holes and was in the hospital, he went to see him and make sure he was okay. He even offered to pay Techno’s medical bills, though Techno denied his help because he felt betrayed by him.”

  “What a jerk,” I said, shaking my head. “Grandfather even offered to pay his bills and Techno rejected him because of a misunderstanding? For being such an intelligent tech guy, he sure doesn’t seem all that smart.”

  “Agreed,” said TW, “but Techno has always been somewhat moody, especially in comparison to Gregory. Techno used to style himself as a ‘realist’ in comparison to Gregory’s ‘idealism,’ but it seems he’s entirely dropped the ‘realist’ part in favor of outright cynicism, maybe even nihilism, though I would hesitate before calling him that.”

  “Whatever his deal is, he’s useless,” I said. I walked over to my bed and sat down on it, crossing my legs as I did so. “And now we’re back to square one, at least when it comes to getting you fixed.”

  “What did I tell you?” said TW. “I told you he wouldn’t listen or help. His hatred of Trickshot—or, really, Gregory—is deep and has had ten years to fester. I’m surprise he didn’t just disintegrate you on the spot like he kept threatening to do. It would have been very in character for him. Perhaps he just didn’t want to deal with the murder charges.”

  “Yeah, because the police would definitely be able to deal with a cyborg shut-in who has disintegration lasers built into his apartment,” I said sardonically. I rested my chin in my hands and sighed. “It doesn’t really matter now, I guess. But you seem to be taking this pretty well, TW, given how Techno is the only guy who could have fixed you.”

  “As I said, I already expected him to say no and send us away,” said TW. “That’s another life lesson for you. When your expectations are in line with reality, you are rarely disappointed, no matter how bad the outcome of a particular situation is.”

  “Then how are we going to fix you?” I said. “There’s got to be someone else we can talk to.”

  “Gregory could fix me, but of course he’s still being held prisoner by Icon,” said TW with a shrug. “I w-wouldn’t worry t-too much about it. What we n-need to focus on is getting you ready to d-defend Rumsfeld from the threat Gregory foresaw coming. T-That’s what matters in the end.”

  I frowned. “TW, you’re stuttering again. Maybe you should take a break.”

  TW’s form flickered in and out a couple of times before it stabilized again, though TW wore a very concentrated expression on his face. “Don’t worry about me, Jack. I just lost focus there for a bit. As long as I maintain my f-focus, I won’t stutter or flicker in and out of existence.”

  I wondered how long TW could possibly maintain his focus. Probably until his programming gave out entirely, which seemed likelier and likelier by the day. Still, I had to admit that TW had a point. Right now, there was nothing I could do to fix his programming, nor did I know anyone who could. I considered asking Kyle, but Kyle was still in Florida on vacation with his family, and besides Kyle had never fixed something as complex as TW. I was worried that Kyle might accidentally damage TW’s programming beyond repair if he had access to it.

  “All right, I guess we’ll return to this topic some other time,” I said. I looked at TW. “How has your research into Mr. Salt been going?”

  “Excellently, actually,” said TW. He held up a palm and a holographic image of Mr. Salt’s face appeared in it. “According to my research, Mr. Salt lives in an apartment in north Rumsfeld by himself, not too far from the headquarters of your father’s construction company, actually. I’m not sure if he keeps his superhero artifacts there or if he stores them elsewhere, but it’s a good place to start looking, at any rate.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “When do you think we should go after him?”

  “Whenever you want,” said TW. “I suggest choosing a time when he’s out of his apartment. That will make it easier to break in and look for the second Watch.”

  I folded my arms over my chest, thinking about what TW said. “Midnight wouldn’t work, because he will probably be sleeping. Sometime during the late morning would work, I think, because he is usually at the Mall at that time, which means that his apartment is probably empty for most of the morning and afternoon.”

  TW frowned. “Daytime break-ins are extremely risky. If someone sees you trying to break in, then they may report you to the police. You don’t want to go to jail, do you?”

  “Good point,” I said. Then an idea occurred to me and I smiled. “What if I don’t break in, though? What if Mr. Salt lets me in?”

  TW’s frown became more confused. “Why would Mr. Salt ever willingly let you into his apartment? You didn’t even buy anything from him this time. I can’t imagine why he would ever feel the need to let you into his living space.”

  My smile grew wider. “If he thought he was going to get three thousand dollars from me, I’m sure he would give me the password to his social media accounts.”

  “But you don’t have three thousand dollars,” said TW. “You barely even have thirty. I’m not sure you’ve thought through this very well.”

  “I don’t need three thousand dollars,” I said. I rose from my bed and rubbed my hands together. “If I contact Mr. Salt and let him know that I am interested in purchasing the Watch at his apartment, I’m sure he will let me in. Then I could sneak it out without his knowledge and make sure it never falls into the wrong hands ever again.”

  “Perhaps you should offer to buy something else from him instead of the Watch,” TW suggested. “Then, while he isn’t looking, you can swipe the Watch and leave without actually buying anything. How does that sound?”

  “That’s even better than my plan,” I said. “TW, you’re really getting the hang of this.”

  “Planning has always been one of my strong suits,” said TW proudly. “Though I learned it, of course, from Gregory, who was an even better planner than I am.”

  “Great,” I said. “Then let’s get to it. There’s no time to waste.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As it turned out, Mr. Salt had a Facebook page through which he did the most amount of his communication. I contacted him through it and the two of us set up a date I could come to his
apartment, where he apparently kept the majority of his superhero artifacts. I implied in the message that I had gotten a lot of money from my dad and that I was looking to spend it on something pricey, which was my way of implying that I was interested in buying the Watch. Of course, I didn’t know if Mr. Salt would actually show me the Watch or not, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to see if he would pick up my clues and bring it with the rest of his inventory.

  The next day, I stood in front of the door to Mr. Salt’s apartment, which, in contrast to Techno’s apartment building, was cheap and plain. It was smaller than Techno’s apartment building, for one thing, and much smellier, like it was full of dogs that weren’t potty trained. The building also looked fairly bombed out and there were a couple of young Mexican guys standing on the sidewalk just outside who had watched me go in with looks in their eyes that I didn’t like. They didn’t approach me, though I felt like that was more because I didn’t look wealthy than because they were afraid of me.

  Pushing such thoughts out of my mind, I knocked on the door to Mr. Salt’s apartment. Less than a second later, I heard a series of locks being undone and then the door cracked open just enough for me to see Mr. Salt’s dark eyes peeking out from within.

  “Mr. McDonald?” said Mr. Salt. “Is that you?”

  I nodded. “Yep.” I hefted my backpack over my shoulder in a not-so-subtle gesture. “And I’ve got the money.”

  “Ah, yes, of course,” said Mr. Salt, flashing me a winning smile that nonetheless made me feel revolted. “Come in, come in. I have plenty of interesting superhero objects that the grandson of the legendary Trickshot should be very interested in looking at.”

  Mr. Salt opened the door wide and stepped aside. I walked inside and looked around at the tiny apartment in which I now stood as Mr. Salt closed the door behind me.

  In comparison to Techno’s apartment, Mr. Salt’s felt more like a cramped broom closet. Off to the side was a partially open door which revealed a dirty-looking bathroom, while to my right was an entryway into a small kitchen that smelled of bad Mexican food that had been burnt. The walls were mostly bare, save for a couple of pictures of what looked like Mr. Salt’s parents, perhaps back in Mexico, because the background didn’t look like anywhere in the United States. The ceiling tiles were cracked in a few places and, based on a couple of dark spots, I could only assume that they were the victim of frequent leaks from whenever it rained too hard.