The Good Guys, page 9
“Your powers?”
Landslide looked away. He could not meet the Mirror’s gaze. “It was like using a jackhammer when a chisel was needed. Blame it on the stress. Blame it on my inexperience. I don’t know—blame me.”
“It did not go well.” It was not a question.
“I…”
“Your hands are shaking,” the Mirror added.
Landslide swore; he had not noticed that it had started up again. He stuffed his hands into the folds of his robes, gripping tightly at the fabric to stop the quivering.
“What the fuck do you think? I brought it all down on myself. I could feel their heartbeats give out…could feel their lives just vanish.” He blinked hard, feeling warm tears drip slowly down his cheeks. “I failed them. I failed myself. And when I could, I ran.”
They fell silent. Between them, there was only the sound of his shuddering breaths. It was a few moments before the Mirror spoke again. “How long have you been carrying that with you?”
“A while,” Landslide said softly.
“It has clearly not been to your benefit.”
Landslide sighed. “It’s difficult to talk about it. Every time I think of even trying to, it’s like I’m forced to stop.”
“Why?”
“I...I choke and trip over the words, like someone is trying to force fuel down my throat. Is that normal?”
The Mirror cocked his head. “And what is normal, Landslide, for a person in your position?”
Landslide realised he had no good answer.
“So this is why you came to the Vault? Because you could not deal with the weight of what you perceived as your failure? Did you think you could ease it here, relieve yourself of that pain?”
Landslide chose not to address that directly. “Did I tell you that most nights are a rough sleep for me—if I can even catch any sleep at all? It aches. It’s tiresome.”
“Because…”
“Of the screams. I can’t stop hearing them. Why can’t it stop? Why won’t it?”
“You did your best. You tried your best—in toil, in tears, in blood. Regardless of the error, regardless of the shortcomings, that’s more than most can say. Sometimes you might fall short, but that does not mean you should blame yourself for having made that attempt.” The Mirror sighed and his voice softened. “You should rest knowing that you are better than your mistakes, better than your past, and that it is all right. It will remain all right so long as you are resolved to do better, to rise of your own accord when you fall—again, and again, and again. Lighten yourself of the burdens that you carry.”
“Where would I put it all down?”
The Mirror did not answer.
Landslide shivered. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to read my mind? Shouldn’t all this have been made known to you?” He paused and sat up straighter, trying to rein himself in and regain his composure. “Why would you need me to repeat it all for you?”
“Because words are powerful,” the Mirror replied simply. “Words breathe life into our deeds. Saying something—admitting something—makes it real. And some of the things we want to keep secret, well, sometimes they need to be brought out into the light.”
“You know, don’t you?” Landslide suddenly said, gripping his armrests.
“For the people who come here, there is little that I do not know. There is nothing you can keep hidden from me, nothing that was not clear to me from the moment you set foot into my chamber.”
“And yet you have not told the others,” Landslide said through gritted teeth. “Why?”
“Because everyone has something to hide, and that goes double for superheroes. Because the people here are willing to entrust me with their secrets. It would do me a disservice to betray that trust and confidence. It is a matter of principle, and principle is what sets apart the hero from the savage. It is uncomplicated for me.”
“You asked me why I wanted you to tell it all to me,” the Mirror continued, “when these things were already laid bare before me? I think you know as well as I do, Landslide, that you have already answered your own question: you needed to hear it for yourself. Sometimes, we all do.”
The Mirror stood. “The words we choose and the stories we tell—to me, to the people around us, to ourselves, to yourself—are important. I suppose that is one thing you can take away from today.”
“Take away? So we’re done here?”
“Not by choice, it seems.” The Mirror sighed, looking past Landslide. “You have been summoned.”
“By whom?” Landslide asked.
“By Hound, on orders of the Wall.”
13
“I still don’t understand.”
“It’s nothing,” Hound said. He had a way of dismissing Landslide’s concerns that was succinct yet somehow endearing. Landslide had narrowed it down to how the investigator hand-waved away his questions in an almost brotherly fashion. “I’m sure you’ll catch up.”
“So explain it again to me?”
The pair strode quickly down the well-lit corridors of the Vault as Landslide tried to fit his mask on. He eventually gave up and tucked it securely inside his robes. It seemed that there had been an emergency of sorts. The Wall had summoned Hound, who had in turn gone to look for Landslide. After he was picked up from the Mirror’s chamber, Landslide was rushed towards a place which Hound refused to describe in any other terms more specific than “down below”.
They were trailed by two Caretakers. “Legion had a, well, he had a go at Fortress Manus,” Hound tried to explain. He said it so calmly, almost casually, but his hurried steps betrayed his anxiety.
“When you say ‘had a go’, you mean…”
“Attached. Assaulted. Wait, no, ‘battery’, if we’re being precise. I took a crash course in law once. Was never very good at it. In any case, I think you’ve gotten the gist of it.”
“I don’t…Legion is…”
“I understand your reservations,” Hound said, “and I found it difficult to believe too when the report first came in and I saw the footage myself. As far as I can tell, Legion was outside my little office—I'd presumed that he had come to look for me. By sheer coincidence, Ol’ Shiny was leaving his command centre. He’d barely gotten a few steps out of the door when Legion saw him and went flat-out crazy on him. When I found out what had happened, I sent for Seraph and got you as quick as I could—I know you guys are close.”
“We are,” Landslide said carefully. “I suppose knowing we’re all in here for being broken in our own ways is something that helps you talk. But I still don’t understand—why now? Legion’s been in the Vault for the longest time amongst us all. He’s been in the Wall’s presence before. He definitely didn’t like Fortress Manus, but he’s kept that in check. I don’t see why he’d just snap—not now, especially.”
“Maybe it’s the pressure,” Hound surmised. “I was hoping you’d help us find out why—you and Seraph, both.”
“Aye.”
“Excellent.” Almost imperceptibly, Landslide felt Hound pick up the pace. “So, the plan is as follows: we head down the stairs, find the Wall and Seraph, and then figure out how to deal with Legion.”
“How is he now?”
“He’s been…” Hound paused. Whether this was for him to contemplate or for effect, Landslide could not tell. “He’s been contained.”
Hound did not choose to elaborate. Landslide considered pressing him further, but decided against it. He was sure that things would be made clear shortly.
They continued their descent down echoing stairwells and through empty passageways, until eventually the ceiling began to get higher and the corridors roomier.
Hound brought their little group to a stop before a set of double doors. Immediately, Landslide could tell that this had been dealt with
far more seriously than he had expected. These were massive blast doors—the sort that looked like they were solid enough to stand up to the force of a bomb. A large sign was plastered across it: CONTAINMENT UNIT. NO UNAUTHORISED ENTRY.
Hound turned to nod at one of the Caretakers, who approached the access panel at the side. Landslide could barely see the Caretaker’s deft gestures as it keyed in the access code.
The low rumble of grinding metal broke the tense silence as the blast doors began to slide open. As the interlocking teeth parted smoothly, Landslide could not help but notice how much it looked like he was facing down the gaping maw of an angry, awakening beast.
He stole a glance at Hound; the man looked completely unfazed as he stepped through the widening gap. Shaking his head, Landslide followed in the investigator’s heels.
They found themselves in a long corridor. On either side were rows of dimly lit rooms with glass walls crisscrossed with metal reinforcements, each with their own access panels.
Landslide froze when he realised what they were. “These are jail cells,” he whispered.
“A keen eye.” Hound had the thinnest hint of a smile on his face. “Welcome to the Vault’s brig.”
“But the Vault is supposed to be a safe place, a house of help and rehabilitation. Why would it need a prison?”
Hound made his way down the corridor. Landslide noticed a pair of unmistakeable figures at the far end of it, and started after him.
“You’re right,” Hound said. “I’ll freely admit that the Vault is meant to provide care to the supers who need it. But that doesn’t always work out as well or as easily as you’d hope. We may be all broken here, but I would guess that some are a little more broken than others. Some don’t take too well to what the Vault has to offer and, well, you saw the answer to that splashed in big letters across those giant blast doors.”
“The Vault isn’t meant for you to be put in a straitjacket.” The concept did not sit well with Landslide.
Hound shrugged. “I won’t deny its necessity.”
They had reached the Wall and Seraph. Seraph had put her mask back on. She gave Landslide a brief look, made a noise that sounded like a sniff, then turned away. The Wall, on the other hand, did nothing to acknowledge their presence. He stared at the room in front of him, which appeared to be the only inhabited cell in the Vault’s Containment Unit.
The cubicle was austerely furnished, and with the transparent walls it was clear that it had been designed with a person’s discomfort in mind. There was only one occupant, and he sat perfectly still on the floor with his legs crossed.
Legion glared at the Wall. The former was unrobed and unmasked, wearing what appeared to be a set of grey military fatigues. Landslide noted that the uniform was faded and well-worn, and guessed that this was probably Legion’s attire from the War. But his costume did not distract onlookers from the look of unrestrained anger on his face.
It was unsettling—a far cry from the man that Landslide had grown used to. Legion was unblinking and unflinching, his features drawn taut in an expression of unbridled fury. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly, his breaths shallow but deliberate.
Landslide noticed that Legion had rings locked around his wrists. They were strange handcuffs—thick white bands with glowing blue lights. “What are those things he’s got strapped to his wrists?” Landslide asked softly.
“Handcuffs that nullify supers’ powers,” Hound whispered back. “We just call them ‘collars’. You can thank the Phase Sixers for them. Don’t ask me how they work—I’ve tried to take a crack at them and I haven’t managed to figure it out. God, if I could play in those big leagues…the things I’d have access to.”
He smirked. “Not like Legion needs those collars anyway,” he added. “From what I’ve heard he’s not much of a threat even without them.”
Landslide shot Hound a look, but did not say anything.
The Wall broke the silence. “Why?” Fortress Manus asked, moving a little closer to the glass panel. “Why did you attack me, Legion? Of all people here, you? You’ve been here the longest, so why’d you snap?”
Legion did not respond. His glare did not waver. The seconds stretched as the two men stared each other down.
And then, abruptly, the Wall reared back and slammed a fist into the glass. The resulting thud reverberated through the empty corridor with enough force that Landslide was sure that the material would crack. He briefly smelled something that left a bitter aftertaste
at the back of his throat, but thought nothing more of it.
“Why?” the Wall thundered. “Don’t you dare go silent on me now, you old bastard—I have one super dead, and now I’ve got another super trying to attack me for no reason. The Vault’s halfway to hell, so tell me—why did you do it, Legion? Why did you kill Warpath?”
“I didn’t kill Warpath,” Legion said softly. “I barely knew the guy. But you, I just wanted to hurt. And now, I sure as hell am going to kill you.”
“Why?” The Wall recoiled visibly.
Legion squinted. “You don’t remember?”
“I didn’t accept the job of running the Vault so I could get beat up by the wards I’m supposed to help oversee. My patience is running short, Legion.”
“Your patience?” Legion spat. “Manus, you dare talk about patience? I crawled out of the muck of that jungle, survived the Long Winter, came all the way here, and you want to tell me about patience? I failed my command because of you. I failed myself because of you. What you’ve cost me, what I’ve done, the things I’ve been through…I’ve been suffering for years, and…and you don’t even know?”
“The jungle?”
Landslide saw the look of realisation dawn on the Wall’s face.
“The communications facility,” the Wall hissed.
“Yes. That attack.”
The Wall shook his head and sighed. “I always knew it was you, from the moment you walked in here. I remember, Legion.”
Legion remained frigid, staring at the ground in front of him.
The Wall laid a hand on the transparent door. His voice was almost tender. “I knew it was you. During the Long Winter, all of that, what we did…it was just a job. I was just doing my duty, as much as I am sure that you were just doing yours. I remember every battle I fought—and more to the point, I remember every man that I lost. All I learnt from that is, well, sometimes we win and sometimes we don’t. And if we’re lucky, we learn from our blunders and atone for our errors, and then we try again. That’s life.”
The Wall pressed on. “I thought we’d buried it all in that jungle. Alliance, Federation—they didn’t care about us. I left it all behind when I hung up my uniform. I tried to do better, be better—which is why the Phase Sixers gave me the Vault. Every person here, whether it’s you or me, we’ve all seen and done and been through things that normal people should never have to. Sometimes that can take us down some dark roads, to places we wouldn’t want to go. Sometimes we get so mired in our own struggles that we can’t escape the horrors of our own traumas. But how can we get anywhere if we’re too busy drowning ourselves in the what-ifs and maybes? We need to grow, Legion. Isn’t that why we—why you—are here?”
Legion remained impassive.
The Wall watched the broken soldier in front of him. Then he sighed and let his hand drop. Before he turned away, Landslide heard him whisper, “This war of ours…the War is over. Just let it go.”
Whether he had said that for Legion or for himself, Landslide did not know.
When the Wall faced the rest of his audience, he had regained his composure. Gone was any hint of sympathy from his eyes; all that remained was a look of barely checked exasperation.
He leaned in towards Seraph, towering over her. Landslide could feel her heart racing as she struggled not to flinch or back down. “I have tolerated the three of you, given you the space and leeway you desired because I know you wanted to find the man who killed Warpath. I let you explore, because you were amongst those who wanted to step up.” The Wall’s voice was thick with acrimony. “But my temper is short, and my patience is finite. I cannot allow the Vault to devolve into lunacy, to continue having supers killing supers. I will not accept the sort of petulance we’re seeing from Legion in anyone else. I will not stand for this place turning into a madhouse. Is that clear?”
Seraph stood stock-still with terror. She did not reply.
The Wall turned his attention to Landslide, glowering down at him. “So you wanted to help? You wanted to show the whole world what kind of hero you are? Then tell me how to fix this—and soon.”
The Wall looked at Hound. “Legion stays in the brig until I decide what to do with him. Otherwise, I think we’ve heard everything we need to hear at this point. I’ll meet you back at the command centre.”
Hound nodded politely and turned to leave together with the two Caretakers.
The Wall looked at their retreating figures, then turned back to Landslide and Seraph. He dipped his head down, bringing his face a little too close to theirs for comfort. When he next spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Legion…I know he liked the two of you. I know, to some extent, he trusted you both. Now he might have hated me and he might have blamed me for all the things that happened to him during the War and after it, but I see no reason why he would have chosen to indulge in that hatred and attack me. Especially now, of all times. If he really wanted to attack me, he could’ve done so ages ago; he had all the opportunity in the world. Something happened. Something must have changed. I need you to find out. I need you to help me.”
The Wall raised back to his full height. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and do be discreet.”
Landslide and Seraph shared a furtive glance.
The Wall turned to leave, then stopped abruptly. He brought his right hand up to his earpiece, his brows knitting together as he listened intently to whatever was being reported to him. Landslide watched as his eyes widened in shock.
The Wall swung back towards the two waiting superheroes. “Belay that. We have more immediate concerns at the moment.”
