Chapter 15: Tunnels and Aspirations

After a week of Joey's grounding, the weekend was a welcome relief. Annie helped Joey write his report on the TV talk show which Mr. Grimes had assigned, while Tricia spent several happy hours editing and color-correcting her video. Then she proudly showed it to her roommates. The three of them sat on their bed together and watched it on her laptop while sipping wine and cuddling together, and they all enjoyed it immensely. One thing kind of led to another, and eventually they got to sleep that night.

Tricia posted "Invisigal" on an amateur sex site, and was euphoric as she watched the hit counter skyrocket over the weekend. Comments poured in, mostly consisting of glorious approval, praise, and reports of splooged monitors, and then they degenerated into accusations of poor special effects. "Fake!" "Obvious CGI/Mo-cap!" "You can see the wires!", "If she were invisible she would be blind!", and other complaints inflamed the praisers, and huge flame wars erupted in the forum. Annie successfully predicted the first Nazi reference in the forum within forty minutes and in celebration ordered a custom T-shirt that read "You know who else abused Godwin's Law? Hitler."

Joey planned to put in extra time at the homeless shelter over the weekend, setting a goal of getting in a full twenty four hours in on top of the thirty two he already had since Tuesday, leaving him only twenty four hours in his obligations to finish over the rest of the week. Considering that he was also returning to school and wouldn't have as much time to work as he previously had, he figured he would still be able to finish off the hours by the end of the week. But the extra hours were more than just an opportunity to finish off his community service; it also gave him time to think about what it was he saw in the apartment across the street when flying with Annie.

But thoughts of the mysterious apparition vanished on Saturday morning when a young and pretty blond girl came into the shelter, pulled Joey aside with her very cold hands, healed him, pecked him on the cheek with frosty lips, and then skipped out. Joey's hands were healthy and painless for the first time in a week, and he ran to show them to Tricia. She congratulated him and handed him a mop.

"The true measure of a man isn't what he's born with, but what he makes of himself" stated the hand-lettered sign. The handwriting was sloppy, and the tape which adhered it to the leaking refrigerator was yellowed and peeling. Food and grease stains had splattered the sign over the years, along with the walls, counters, and floor for good measure. Cockroaches and ants scurried and fed on the loose spills and crumbs which dotted the dingy kitchen. Other signs littered the walls. "One day at a time", "You are worthwhile", "Diamond in the rough", and other aphorisms feebly attempted to provide encouragement and support to the apartment's lone occupant.

Over in the tiny living room, hunched over a wobbling folding table which was covered with a complex tangle of wires, battery packs, and servos was the owner of the signs. Arnold Baldwick was thirty-seven years old, short, balding, overweight and living alone in his first apartment after high school, and for that matter, was still in his first job after high school, working in a local hardware store owned by a family friend.

"The measure of a man is what he makes of himself," he muttered to himself as he worked. Arnold lived by that motto, breathed it, and repeated it like a mantra as he soldered metal, tested connections, and studiously fiddled with the latest adaptations to his most prized possession. The connection was secure, and he delicately lifted the metal glove mechanism and slipped his hand inside. He switched the glove on and flexed his fingers. Servos whined, LEDs flashed, and fingers articulated, and he smiled at his accomplishment.

Satisfied with his work, he turned the glove off and carried it lovingly to a large plastic tub which sat on his combination sofa/bed, and placed it in next to the other sections of the elaborate custom-designed technical armor: second glove, boots, shin guards, knee pads, tech belt, chestplate, laser headgear, and helmet. A second box carried the folded sections of the back unit, including the segmented tail and the multi-purpose wing-arms. He counted the pieces, making special notes of which parts required working power supplies. He checked the power strip plugged into the wall. Batteries were charging, and should be finished in time.

The boxes took up most of the room on his sofa, but he managed to squeeze in next to one and pulled out his laptop. He checked the message again, and rubbed his crotch in anticipation.

Adamantine's forum avatar was a gorgeous tanned blond woman with big tits and long legs, and he licked his lips, imagining the possibilities with such a woman. Then he closed his computer and decided to take a shower, maybe even trim his pubes. He didn't know what was going to happen tonight, but he felt he should be prepared for anything.

Arnold smiled as he headed for the bathroom. "Armory lives tonight," he said to himself, pulling his T-shirt off his hairy back.

The sedan pulled into the parking lot at Georgetown Reservoir, and sat in the darkness. It was nearly two in the morning, and the only other occupants in the parking lot were a dingy, dirty white van parked next to the small office building, and a lone homeless man wrapped in multiple layers, leaning against a large bent cardboard box next to a dumpster.

Tombspawn pulled out a cellphone and checked the time. "He is late."

Adamantine eyed the van. "Not necessarily. Let's check it out."

The three stepped out of the car. Muscle unfolded his long limbs and grunted as he extracted himself from the back seat. As Adamantine strutted towards the lone van, Tombspawn noticed the homeless man and nodded to Muscle. The creature obeyed, and lumbered towards the man, eyeing him curiously.

The monster grunted and softly kicked the man. The homeless man shifted and snored loudly, not waking or shifting from his position. Muscle cocked his head in puzzlement.

Adamantine strode confidently towards the lone van, examining it. She saw it rock slightly on its suspension, and she stopped, balled her fists, and assumed a combat ready stance.

She listened carefully. Thumps and scratches emanated from the interior. She waited, and Tombspawn watched closely.

The side door slid open.

Adamantine squinted and peered into the darkness of the van. Shadows moved, blinking colored lights shifted, and a large figure suddenly jumped out of the van.

He landed with a unceremonious sloshing jostle of loose equipment strapped over looser belly flab. Calculators, dead printed circuit boards, painted styrofoam, and Velcro strips were strapped haphazardly around his short, flabby frame. He wore what looked like a silver colander with soldered-on kitchen appliances over his balding head, and a single red laser pointer was welded to one side and turned on, its feeble pencil beam ejecting from the cheap mass of trash and recyclables as if trying to escape it. A long segmented tail made of linked PVC tubing stretched behind him, supported by thin fishing wire lines which were strung from the two erect hollow aluminum tubes with blinking light bulbs.

"I ... AM ... ARMORY!" he bellowed out. "AND I HAVE BEEN... CHALLEN-N-N-N-NGED!" He said this last word with a little too much vibrato.

The three supervillains just stood and stared slack-jawed at the ridiculous man.

Arnold struck a pose of might and power, which just looked silly on a short, fat man standing on construction stilts and wearing a homemade suit of techno-trash and robot-puke. He twisted his power glove at them and made a fist, the servos whining loudly and dramatically as the fingers flexed closed. "WHO CHALLENGES THE MIGHT AND POWER OF... ARMORY!!!"

Tombspawn peered quizzically at the sham supervillain and wandered up to Adamantine, as Muscle lost interest in the man wearing the trash suit and poked at the sleeping homeless man again. "What is this?" Tombspawn asked impatiently.

Adamantine face-palmed and shook her head in her hand. "Jesus H. Christ, deep-fried, and put on a stick," she cursed.

"This is a waste of time," spat Tombspawn, and he reached in his pocket for his knife. "Let's just take him and move on."

"YOU DOUBT POWER OF ARMORY? Arnold screeched. He took a couple heavy steps towards the two supervillains, and struck another pose. "THIS," he stressed in his best Shatner impression, "IS THE WORLD'S MOST..." He paused, trying to remember his words. "ADVANCED ... TECHNOLOGICALLY?..." He frowned, trying to recall the word that he really needed to say, and decided he had said it already. "IN THE WORLD!" he concluded.

Adamantine touched Tombspawn's cold arm, holding him back. "No. I'll handle this," she said. "This is all part of the process, unfortunately."

She plastered on a smile and sashayed towards the little man in his homemade costume. "Oh, no," she oozed. "I would NEVER consider doubting Armory's power." She strutted around him, licking her lips, letting him get a good long look at her curves and cleavage in her tight tank-top, leather jacket, shorts and bare legs and feet. She traced a finger around his costume, across the chestplate with the plastic models and blinking lights glued onto it. Arnold/Armory turned awkwardly around as she circled him. "You are quite a piece of work, aren't you?" she asked.

Arnold grinned back at her, getting into the play. "I am," he boasted. "I am all this. You challenged me." He frowned. "And MORE!" he added suddenly. "I am all this, and MORE!" He pointed his mechanical finger at the beautiful woman. "You issued the challenge. I accept!"

Adamantine cocked her head and touched her finger to her lips. "Yeah, about that. I didn't actually issue you a challenge," she confessed. Arnold looked at her with puzzlement and disappointment. "Let me explain this to you in simple terms," she said.

Before he had a chance to react, Adamantine spun and fan-kicked his mechanical hand. The bare invulnerable foot connected to the mass of servos, wires, and metal, and shattered it. Arnold screamed in pain as the twisted metal cut into his hand, and she dropped and punched her fist into his chestplate. Styrofoam, plastic, metal, and wires exploded from the destroyed armor, and he staggered backwards and fell, crushing the cheap backpack, ripping fishing wires, and twisting the aluminum tubes. He scrambled, trying to upright himself, but Adamantine jumped on top of him, With two swipes of her hands she knocked the aluminum tubes off his back, sending them scattering across the parking lot pavement. She pinned him down on his back, straddling over him, her knees pressing down into his weak, flabby arms, and her crotch over his chest. She ripped the colander off his head and grabbed his throat with both hands. Arnold gasped and kicked, struggling underneath the savage girl, and she slapped him hard in the face.

"OW! Too hard!" he whined.

She slapped him again. "Shut up!"

Arnold shook his head. "We haven't got a..."

"What? A safe word?" she asked. "You think I need one?"

Arnold struggled and kicked, trying to get the girl off him. She slapped him again. "Stop it!" she ordered. He ignored it, still struggling under her. Adamantine sighed, grabbed his ear, and pulled, turning his head to the side.

Then she slammed her bare fist straight into the pavement, breaking a chunk of concrete in front of his eyes with a loud CRACK that silenced him.

Arnold stopped and gasped. She pulled his head back and forced him to stare at her.

"This..." she said, clenching her fist at him. " ... is real." She waited for the look of horror to spread over his eyes. "We're not fakes, or wannabes, or role-players. We're the real thing." She grabbed his collar with both hands. "You see, we need ways to communicate with each other, ways that the authorities can't find, and that's where you losers come in. You see, for every one of us there are dozens of creeps like you who just like to play supervillain on the weekend, have your little 'challenges'..." She used air-quotes. " ... as an excuse to play-fight and get laid by the other losers who are the only ones who'll have you, and we use you. We hide in plain sight, using your sex forums as a place to communicate. I didn't come here to see you. I came here to see the REAL Armory. You know? The one who hacked your Super-play account? The one who put his encoded tag in your avatar image?"

Arnold turned pale.

"Where is he?" she asked sweetly.

Arnold swallowed and shook his head. "I don't know," he said desperately. "I didn't know!"

Adamantine sighed, and caressed his cheek with her invulnerable fingers. "That's too bad," she said sadly. "I don't like being disappointed."

"Please," he pleaded. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he started sobbing. "I didn't mean any harm. I don't know anything about him. Please! I'm nobody to you. Please don't hurt me."

She pouted her lips as she considered the blubbering man. "Oh, but here's the issue. Now that you know how we work, we can hardly let you go with that information."

Arnold was crying. "Please. Please don't. I won't tell anyone. I promise!"

She slipped her hands around his neck. "Nothing personal," she explained.

She started to squeeze, and the man bucked and writhed under her, feebly trying to escape her iron grip. He gasped and wheezed, and struggled helplessly against her strength.

"Don't hurt him," came a new voice.

Adamantine, Tombspawn, and Muscle all turned towards the voice. It came from the homeless man sitting next to the building. The man shifted and raised his head, peering out from under his hat brim.

Muscle growled and reached one meaty hand to the rag-wrapped man, but the man reacted instantly, quickly grabbing the monster's hand in a powerful grip. Muscle jerked backward, and the man rose, lifting his heavy frame and the box behind him in one smooth motion. The box came up with him as if connected to his back. It buckled and shifted, betraying the presence of living, moving objects within it. The cardboard ripped. Huge blades extended from the top as four razor-sharp pincers punctured the bottom, and the entire box split apart as the two multi-function arms and the mechanical tail erupted and stretched out, reducing the box to shreds.

Muscle growled, roared, and swung one mighty arm at the homeless man. One of the mechanical arms caught it, blocking the blow and then threw the monster aside easily. Muscle crashed into the ground, rolled, and flopped, more confused than hurt. The man then took off his hat, revealing chrome steel embedded in his skull, and a single gleaming green laser shining from his right eye.

"Call off your dog," the real Armory rasped to Tombspawn. "I'm here to talk."

Tombspawn leaned on his cane and studied the cyborg. "Muscle. Stand down," he commanded. The behemoth growled, got back on his feet, and lumbered back to his master.

Armory scanned the area, twisting his body left and right, the massive wing-arms shifting and tail twitching, and then he leaped into the air. He rebounded loudly against Arnold's dingy van, shaking it with the impact, and dropped into a crouch next to Adamantine and the blubbering counterfeit.

"Get off of him!" he barked at Adamantine.

Adamantine glared at him, and in return he raised one massive wing-arm and pointed it at the woman. It throbbed and whined with a power build, and the claws opened up. The bulbous emitter glowed with energy, and she carefully considered what Armory was capable of doing. She didn't think he could actually hurt her, but he could easily rip up her new clothes, and the entire point of showing up was to recruit him, so she decided to back off. She released her death-grip on Arnold's neck. The man under her took in a desperate gasping breath of air, and she stood up.

She held up her hands. "Okay," she said, backing away. "You want to do it? Fine."

Armory crawled on his wing-arms and legs, like some massive metallic scorpion towards the blubbering, wheezing man. Arnold panicked, and tried to scramble to his feet, but could only awkwardly roll and shift on the ground. The construction stilts on his feet made it difficult for him to get up.

The cyborg stood erect, folding the large arms behind him, and stood over the man. He extended a hand down to him.

"Get up," he commanded.

"P-p-p-please Mr. Armory!" Arnold stuttered, crawling and shifting away from him. "Please don't hurt me!"

"I won't," replied the supervillain, still extending a hand down to the man. "Please. Stand."

The other three supervillains stood off to the side, watching this performance. Tombspawn squinted in puzzlement, and leaned in to Adamantine. "What is he..." he quietly started to ask.

"Wait for it," she whispered back. She was watching Armory's tail as it swung slowly behind him.

"I don't want to die! I didn't mean anything!" wailed the man. "I just want to go home!"

"I understand," replied Armory. "And I have no quarrel with you. Stand, please."

The realization that he was not going to die immediately slowly seemed to dawn on Arnold, and he stared at the metal hand offered to him. It was a powerful, gleaming, robotic appendage of the finest craftsmanship he had ever seen. The articulated fingers fascinated him, and his eyes followed the wires and hydraulics up the metal arm, across the massive barrel-chest armor until he looked up at the tough face with the scars and embedded metal. One eye radiated green in an indifferent, molecular brilliance. But the other was human, and showed compassion.

The supervillain gave him the slightest of smirks. "I have no intention of hurting you," he said calmly. "Please."

Arnold looked up at the mechanical man through shaking, watery tears. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He hesitantly reached up and took the supervillain's hand. He knew that hand could crush his, slice his fingers off, or grind the bones into powder, so he carefully touched the finger, and pressed down, pushing his weight on it. It didn't budge, and Armory helped the man stand up.

"There," the cyborg said as Arnold got back to his feet. "No harm?"

Arnold trembled before the supervillain. "Um, no..." He looked like he didn't know exactly who the 'No harm' was referring to, and he wiped his eyes.

Armory smiled. "Good." He reached out and brushed some dirt off the man's shoulders. Arnold cringed in fright at the touch. "It would not have done anyone any good if you got hurt."

The man looked puzzled as he digested that, as well as terrified. He cautiously looked back at the supervillain. "Can I ... Can I go home now?"

The cyborg nodded. "Of course." Arnold's eyes opened wide in surprise, and Armory lifted two fingers. "Two things though."

"What?" he asked in terror.

"First, do a better job on your armor. If you're going to imitate me, at least do me the honor and take some pride in your work."

Arnold just stood there, trembling, and he nodded. Adamantine watched and grinned as she saw Armory's tail rise high above their heads, its claws open wide and spinning slowly.

"Okay..." he finally said. "I'll ... I'll try to um..."

"Second," the cyborg said. "She was right." Arnold squinted in puzzlement. "I can't let you go knowing what you know."

There was a moment of silence. Arnold stared at the supervillain, trying to figure out what was happening, when he heard a movement above him. He looked up and saw the open claw of Armory's tail hanging above his head, ready to strike.

"Nothing personal," the cyborg added.

The tail suddenly surged down, its claws open wide, and it clamped over the poor man's head. Arnold screamed and lashed as the appendage pulled and jerked, holding him steady. Electricity flared. Tongues of lightning sparked between the metal fingers, and Arnold spasmed and gurgled as the supervillain held him and fried his brain. A deep thrumming sound emerged from the bulbous tail, and Arnold stopped thrashing, and just hung limply in the grip of the metal claw, twitching and drooling.

"You will forget what you learned tonight," commanded Armory. Arnold made no response. His eyes just rolled back into his head. "You came to this place looking for a girl. You found her. She was dressed as Quantum Knight, and was more beautiful than what you could ever expect. You did your play fight, and she destroyed your armor in the process. You both then went to your van and pleasured each other. You satisfied her beyond measure."

Adamantine raised an eyebrow as she watched this performance.

"After you finished," he continued, "she told you to rebuild your armor. More electronics. More lights. More sounds. More details. You are not to contact her. She will contact you, and will bring a girlfriend with her next time."

Arnold's only response was to let out a stream of drool.

The claw released his head, and Arnold slumped forward. Armory caught him, cradled him, and carried him into his van. He gently placed him inside.

Adamantine clapped her hands together slowly and sarcastically. "Well, what do you know? The tin man has got a heart after all," she said loudly to him.

Armory turned slowly and stared at the other three. A vicious smile spread over his lips. "Clever, girl," he hissed. "We four do look like we just emerged from an L. Frank Baum nightmare. But no, this was not heart. It was simple economics. This one is valuable to me." He closed the van door and turned back to them. "So tell me, Dorothy. Looking for a new home?" He gestured to Tombspawn. "Scarecrow there the brains of your little operation?" He glanced at Muscle. "Your lion short on courage?"

Muscle growled under his breath.

Tombspawn spoke. "You will find that my creation will not be afraid what man can do unto him. I did not give to him the spirit of fear." He stepped forward. "But you are right about me."

Armory and Tombspawn stared each other in the eyes, while Adamantine scoffed impatiently and folded her arms over her chest. She checked her nails. "Here's the deal, guys. Yours is dead, and yours if it wasn't chopped off like all the rest of you is now prehensile. Now stick them back in your pants and let's talk."

The cyborg scowled. "You said something about a challenge?"

Tombspawn nodded. "Is there someplace private we can speak?"

Armory scanned Tombspawn's attire and smiled. "Of course. If you don't mind ruining your suit. Follow me."

"WHERE ARE YOU?" Joey screamed.

The dream had started in school. He was in class taking a test. Some questions he knew, like where to find fresh toothbrushes or used clothes. Those were easy. But for the questions he didn't know, like dates and presidents, Simon would lean over and whisper the answer to him. But then the big question came, and when he saw it, he knew Simon didn't have the answer either.

"Are you Science, Magic, Cosmic, or Mutation?"

There was simply no answer. He knew. He had been tested thoroughly. Doctor Booth had tested him, the hospital tested him, and then he was tested again by EarthGuard. He had been seen by three mages, had four blood tests, met every known Cosmic hero, and had full body scans. No one could find anything. There were no mutant catalyst genes, no residual radiation or atypical organs, no extra-dimensional influences, and no special recognition from other Cosmics. It was as if he had his powers naturally.

"I know what you are," said a new voice next to him.

Joey spun towards the new voice, but only saw the back of a figure just as that person left the room. He jumped from his desk and ran after the person. "STOP! WAIT!" he called after whoever it was. Out the door, down the hallway, around the corner, through the double doors, down another hallway, he ran through stairwells and access corridors, deeper and deeper into the darkest bowels of the school. The school apparently had a vast subterranean complex filled with machine rooms, storage facilities, and mazes of corridors and walkways. The figure always managed to stay ahead of him, and he sprinted down the hallways, shouting and calling to the receding shadow.

He lost the person inside what looked like an underground aircraft hanger. "WHERE ARE YOU?" he screamed in frustration. His voice echoed alone in the concrete and metal cavern.

"Who are you looking for?" asked Sophia.

"It's okay, Joey. You'll find out eventually." She looked about expectantly. "Why don't we go outside for a..."

"No! It's not okay!" he shouted at her. He stood up and glared at her. "And who are you to say that it is? Look at me! You tell me. What am I? Mutant? Wizard? Cosmic? Nobody knows! I don't even know what I am! You don't know what that's like!"

"We all go through this," Sophia started.

"Great, but I don't see any reason for it!" He stomped off and paced. "I mean, what's the point of the mystery, huh? Why can't I know what I am? Do you know what it's like to..." He grasped the air, trying to find the concepts. " ... to feel like there's some huge reason why you're here, but you don't know what it is? To not know why you're different from everybody else? It's like, there's this huge part of me that's missing, you know?"

Sophia watched him, and she gripped the handrails of the stairs and sat down. "There are worse things than not knowing what you are here for," she said.

"Like what?" he challenged.

She looked at him critically. "Like knowing exactly what you are here for."

He stared and blinked. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means..." she sighed. "It means that if you really have a purpose, if some higher power has made you and has plans for you, there are two things that can happen. Either you don't manage to do what you are supposed to do, at which point you are a failure, or you succeed at what you are supposed to do, at which point you are then useless. Finding out and knowing why you are here, why you are gifted the way you are, limits what you can be." Her gaze fell to the floor. "Sometimes a purpose is so small, you wonder if you were chosen because God knew that you wouldn't be able to handle anything else." She paused and looked back up at him. "It's like those actors in movies who play the bit parts. They go into the movie knowing all they have to do is convincingly sell a hot dog to the hero of the story. Once they've sold that hot dog, they're done. They aren't needed anymore."

Joey watched her carefully, and saw a wave of depression wash over her. "So, you know the reason you're here, and whatever it is, it's not enough, right?"

She nodded. "It's all about worth. How much is a person worth? When you find out you're part of some grand design, some purpose, what you're really getting is a message that says... 'You are worth THIS much. No more.' And maybe that amount looks large when you first see it, but after awhile, you realize you can be so much more. And the rest of the message, 'You are not worth THAT much, ' comes in clear."

Her eyes fell down to the floor again, and Joey just stood there, watching her and reflecting. "Why are you here?" he asked. "What are you supposed to do?"

"To find you," she answered, and looked back up at him. "To teach you."

"Teach me what?"

Sophia stared at him for a moment, inhaled deeply, and stood up. "You're getting lucid. Let's go for a walk. I want to go outside." She walked over to a wall.