The Good Guys, page 3
“Your guess is as good as mine. No one knows. Maybe he figured that he’d finally had enough.”
Landslide deliberated this as he worked through a tougher piece of meat on his plate.
“What about you?” Seraph asked. “This is a quite bit of an interrogation that you’ve been enjoying. You’ve been asking us a lot about ourselves—I think it’s our turn to do the asking. How’re you finding it in the Vault?”
“It’s alright.” Landslide shrugged. “It’s all so white, though. Also, the only elevator here is the one that gets us in and out of the Vault—what’s up with that? Why do they want us to use the stairs so much? Is it an exercise thing? If you asked me, I’d say they could stand to make this place a little nicer.”
“If they did, why would any of us want to leave?” Legion scoffed. “So, go on—what’s your story?”
Landslide repeated his practised lines. “What can I say? Born and raised west of Clementi. A boring life, until I found out that I was geo-kinetic when I got pissed at my parents one time and accidentally brought half the house down. After that...well, it’s not like I really made the news. It’s always been a bit small-time for me. I’m not saving the world anytime soon. Not much of an origin story, as these things go.”
“Most of us don’t have the luxury of a memorable one. West, you say?” Legion asked. His brow knitted. “I might’ve heard a name like yours before, operating on the east coast.”
“Uh, well…things change and the grounds shift from time to time. I shifted to the east. East side, best side. Right?”
Seraph snorted. “That’s debatable. But it’s your first day here, so I’m willing to agree to disagree. I’ll be nice.”
“Magnanimous of you as always,” Legion retorted. He eyed Landslide and prodded again. “Could have sworn I read about you somewhere, and the papers made you out to be a bit older. I guess that’s the lack of respect the media gives us lower-level, smaller-scale supers—can’t even get our stories right. You really do look a bit young to be in this line of work though, if I’m being honest.”
“You look a bit old to be walking around without help,” Landslide shot back, trying to put on a smile.
Seraph laughed. “That's what I'm here for, didn't you know?” she said, leaning over to slap a fuming Legion on the back.
“I don’t like this one,” Legion said.
“I do,” Seraph disagreed. “I think he’ll be all right.”
“Well, young or old, wherever it is you come from, you’ve been doing good work out there. Hope you keep it up when you get out of this place,” Legion said. He seemed resigned, accepting Landslide’s explanation. “I guess it’s our turn to ask—if you don’t mind me asking, of course—why did you decide to come to the Vault?”
“I’m just…I’m just here to get better. Just like everyone else here, right? This seemed like the best place to be.” Landslide fell silent. He shook his head. “You know, maybe it isn’t the best time for that.”
“It’s all right,” Legion said. “You don’t need to feel obliged to share anything you’re not comfortable with sharing. Some of the people here are practically opaque with their stories. Just look around you—how many of them do you know? We’re almost all having lunch now.”
“Do our boy a favour—he’s new here,” Seraph said. “You could introduce some of the Vault’s fine residents to him.”
Legion shrugged, then pointed. “Take Lance over there for example—that fellow with the wild look in his eyes, looks like a guitar string that’s a few misplaced fingers from snapping. He’s the sort of man who sees the whole world as a…a mish-mash of vaguely belligerent shapes. I’m pretty sure he’s tried to shoot me before, before I came to the Vault. Then again, I hear he takes shots at just about everybody.”
“Seems nice,” Landslide murmured.
“There’s Kinetic Blue, off to the other side,” Legion continued. “I don’t think he’s figured out that he’s not actually a cowboy. But you don’t have to hear his goddamned accent to tell him apart from everyone else—he’s the jumpy one with the tense air of quiet desperation. Real wannabe-edgy stuff. Beyond that, I barely know anything about the rest. Mockingbird, Frostbite, Fastball… They can hold their own in a fight pretty well, or so I’m told. It’s enough for me.”
“There’s a new guy, too,” Seraph chipped in.
Legion nodded, and pointed to another person who had just taken a seat in the canteen. “That gentlemen there, he just came in a day or two ago. I’ve seen him around outside, but I can’t quite put a finger on where. I think he’s an investigator of some sort. Seems like a nice guy, though. Gets a laugh out of the rest of us whenever he’s around.”
Landslide tried to follow Legion’s finger, noting each of the superheroes in turn. But as he swept his gaze across the canteen, he saw Warpath step in. Landslide felt the atmosphere in the room grow just a little heavier with tension.
Warpath had cleaned up—he was without his mask and his robe, having instead elected to dress in fatigues the colour of mottled charcoal. He joined the queue for food before finding a table to sit down—alone. At every point of his route, people steered clear of him. He looked almost hilariously oversized compared to the tray of food in front of him. Warpath took a moment to appraise the dishes he had been given. Slowly, he dug in.
Landslide watched curiously as Warpath ate. It was morbidly fascinating, like watching a predator take apart a carcass.
“He’s just finished a session with the Mirror,” Seraph whispered to him.
“Why are we speaking so softly?” Landslide whispered back. He was ignored.
“You can tell,” Legion followed up sombrely, “because he’s not brooding as much.”
“He looks brooding enough to me,” Landslide observed.
“You haven’t seen him on a bad day,” Legion replied. “I’m telling you, he wouldn’t be out of place crouching next to a stone gargoyle in the rain.”
“He isn’t glowering at his food or anybody else.” Seraph shrugged. “I guess that means he probably won’t try to kill any of us today.”
“You mean he’s tried to do that before? Here? In the Vault?”
“I’m kidding. The Vault’s meant to be a safe place,” Seraph said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought of it.”
Landslide mulled about this for a bit. “What’s a session with the Mirror like? The way people have been describing it around here…the way I understand it, it seems pretty tough.”
“Tough?” Legion squinted at Landslide. “A session with the Mirror isn’t an exercise routine. Show some respect. It’s not about the difficulty—it’s about the experience.”
Landslide still didn’t understand, but he realised that Legion was being entirely serious. He swallowed his food nervously, uncertain of what to expect with the Mirror.
5
He was seated in a cavernous chamber. The floor, walls and ceiling were lined with panels that gave off a dim blue glow. Just like the rest of the Vault that Landslide had seen so far, the room was simple and sterile. Although he was alone, he kept his mask firmly on.
He tried to feel around him for vibrations or a sign—of what, he wasn’t sure. There didn’t seem to be anything of interest here, although the lone chair he was on was pretty snug.
Temporarily defeated, Landslide reclined to try to make himself a little more comfortable. He waited, rhythmically drumming his fingers on the armrest.
Then suddenly, he realised that he was no longer alone. At the opposite end of the room stood a single Caretaker.
“Who’re you supposed to be?” Landslide asked.
“I am the Mirror,” came the reply. It spoke slowly and calmly, with a foreign undulation to its soothing voice.
“I guess they weren’t wrong,” Landslide shrugged. “You really aren’t what I was expecting.”
“Were you hoping to see a big sheet of reflective glass? Surely you did not come to the Vault just for that.”
A quiet moment passed between them. “So, what now?” Landslide asked.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand. Aren’t you supposed to ask me questions or something? Prescribe me medication?”
“If medication was sufficient, you would not need to be here. How about you tell me who you are?”
“Who I am? You know this already.”
“Then you should have no problem answering the question.”
“Fine.” Landslide looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists on his lap. “I’m Landslide. They sometimes call me the Walking Earthquake. It’s my first day at the Vault. My first time here.”
“Are you sure?”
Landslide’s eyes snapped back at the Mirror. Its featureless mask gave nothing away. It stood at its spot, continuing to stare at Landslide.
“Now what? Are there any more questions I’m supposed to answer?”
Silence. It was getting more than a little uncomfortable. Landslide grew exasperated. “What are you supposed to do, anyway?” he asked.
“Anything you want,” the Mirror replied. “It is up to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“By my observations, most people do not—not in their first session. But that is quite all right. We have time.” The Mirror drew up a chair and sat down. Landslide took note of the fact that the chair had not been in the room before this point. He had the barest moment to register his confusion before he was swept along in the conversation by the Mirror.
“Did you wonder about the panelling and the blue lighting in this room?” the Mirror asked.
“I guess the thought did cross my mind.”
“They're hard-light generators. Telepathic synchronisers. Phase Sixer technology.”
“Big words,” Landslide grunted.
“It is all right if you do not understand.” The Mirror stood up, and the chair he had been sitting on flickered and faded away. He gestured at Landslide. “It is the same for your chair, too. If I can make you think it, I can make you believe it.”
Landslide looked down at the armrests and gave them a tentative squeeze. The plush leather certainly felt real beneath his palms. “Interesting…”
“You might ask yourself, ‘What does this mean for me?’ I will tell you. In this room, you can put yourself in any situation and any time of your choosing. If there is a scenario in your head you would like to explore, a point in your past you want to revisit, this room can make it happen.”
Landslide gave it some thought. “Anything I want?”
“Anything you need,” the Mirror corrected him gently. “You can go anywhere you like if you think it would help.”
“I…” Landslide leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know where to go—where I should go. Where do you want me to go?”
“I cannot answer that question for you. You came here for a reason. Go wherever that comes to mind—your mind—and do whatever you think will allow you to better tackle the issue that made you come here in the first place. You have that autonomy. Where others might take that choice away from you, the Vault gives it freely.”
“That can’t be all there is to it. No questions asked, no strings attached? Where’s the trap? What’s the catch?”
“Well, for a start, none of this is real. They're just projections in an empty room. Just me and you and whatever you have locked away in that mind of yours. But beyond that, no catch. This is the Vault. Everything in this space is for your own well-being, no more and no less.
Would you agree that me putting things in your way to trip you up would be self-defeating?”
“I guess,” Landslide cautiously agreed.
“Then you know as well as I do that there can be no ‘catch’.” The Mirror took a step back. With a wave of its hand, a wooden bar counter materialised in the space between them.
“A drink, perhaps? Whisky on the rocks? Gin and tonic?” the Mirror offered, running its fingers across the varnished grain. A cocktail shaker appeared in its hand, sloshing with liquid and ice. Bottles of alcohol winked into existence across the counter. “I have been told that a good drink can make for good conversation. ‘Lubricant’, I think, was the word used. Would that help? I can tell your drink, you know.”
Landslide looked at all of this with astonishment. “So…I could go halfway around the world and, say, talk to characters from my favourite book?” he suggested experimentally.
“You could speak to all the great women and men in our history, from any corner of the globe. If you are imaginative enough, you could travel to another planet if it so pleases you.” With a smooth sweep of its hand, the bar counter vanished. “So, no drinks? Your loss, you know. I have been told that I make an excellent mule—the libation, not the animal. Although even that can be arranged.”
“And how is that supposed to help?”
“I imagine that it depends on your definition of ‘help’,” the Mirror said, stroking its chin, “and on how much you want to exploit the unlimited reserves of alcohol on offer.”
“That’s…not healthy.”
“I am glad you are aware of that.” The Mirror cocked its head. “There is an unlimited sensory experience you have available to you. I imagine exploring that would be helpful, would you agree?”
“There’s no need to be cryptic. You know what I mean.” Landslide waved his arms, gesturing at the vast space around them. “Isn’t that what the Vault is for? Isn’t that what you do here? Help?”
The Mirror made its chair reappear and sat back down opposite Landslide. “I think you are making all this more complicated than it has to be. Go where you need to go. Go where you think helps. Just go, and just be.”
Landslide struggled. “Be. All right. Just be…myself? The person I want to be? What?”
“Just be.”
“I can go where I want, and when I’m there, I’ll be where I want to be.” Landslide began to feel a little distressed at the lack of any direction, unable to accept the simplicity of all this—whatever this was. “And then I’ll be who I want to be, right? And that’s…that’s all?”
“In simple terms, yes. That is the idea.”
“That’s it? This can’t be so easy.”
“It is. Mostly.”
“Mostly.” Landslide jumped on the word. “What more am I supposed to do? What more do you want from me?”
“Not from you, but for you,” the Mirror corrected him. “I suppose wherever you choose to go, it would be beneficial for you to give some thought as to why you are there. What reasons there might be for choosing that particular location, that particular time. And perhaps there might be some benefit in articulating it—both for my understanding, and yours.”
“I knew it!” Landslide cried. “That’s really what you want—the why. I get it. Now I get it.”
“You do? Is that so?”
“That’s the trap,” Landslide accused.
“Trap?”
“There it is. That’s what you want.” Landslide’s ears pounded. He felt so small all of a sudden, so alone. His own voice sounded soft, almost weak.
“This is not designed to be a negative experience. But if that is what you want to call it, sure. This is your ‘trap’.”
Landslide buried his head in his hands, screwing his eyes shut. “It is, isn’t it?” he asked. He could feel his hands trembling, and he forced them into his lap hoping that the Mirror would not notice. “You want to make me dig deep, spill my guts out to you, make me weep.”
“That is what you assume, but—”
“You’re not going to get that from me. You will not see me crumble. You will not see me beg.”
“How else will you get better if you choose not to be free here, in the safety of this chamber, to open up?”
“I’m not walking into it.” Landslide’s voice was low now, edged with an aimless anger. “I see it. That’s the trap.”
“No, Landslide,” the Mirror said quietly. “That’s the help.”
6
“Long night?”
Landslide looked up to see Legion and Seraph. He had been alone in the small recreation room that he had found tucked away within the residential zone. It had a pantry, games tables and plush sofas; and it was a little less clinical than the rest of the Vault—enough for anyone to feel cosy.
Legion was chewing on a granola bar while Seraph was sipping coffee from a large cup. His two companions sat around him and got comfortable. A few days had passed since Landslide’s first meeting with the Mirror. Between exercise and hanging out with Legion and Seraph, he had taken to exploring the Vault. Once he chanced upon the little recreation room, he fast became a regular presence at the billiards table. He had tried challenging Legion and Seraph, only to find that neither of them were any good at it. They changed the game to chess, where it was Landslide’s turn to find himself soundly beaten. He was content to watch the holographic figures of the pawns hacking away at rooks and bishops when the other supers played.
“Aye.” Landslide gave them both a small smile. “Can’t sleep.”
“Insomnia, medication or existential terror?” Legion asked.
Landslide picked up his mask, turning it over in his hands. “A little of everything, I suppose.”
“That’s normal. That’s all of us.” Legion clasped his hands behind his head.
“Sometimes,” Seraph said softly, “sometimes I get jolted out of bed. Sometimes its nightmares. Sometimes it’s just the restlessness that grips me. I just can’t sleep. And sometimes it's on the opposite end of that scale—my body feels like lead. Just numb. Like I’m glued to the sheets and can’t bring myself to leave. Sometimes.”
“Yeah.” Landslide nodded. “It’s exactly like that.”
“It’s unfortunate,” Legion said, giving Landslide a sorrowful smile. “But I feel you. I think a lot of us here do.”
Seraph stood and smiled, cheery again. “Let me make you something warm to drink,” she offered.
A cup of sweet tea later, the three superheroes settled into an easy conversation. “Let me get this straight,” Seraph said between attempts to stifle her laughter. “Warpath is your neighbour?”
