The Overlooked/The Long Walk
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
The endless flow of traffic across the elevated highways filled the air with a dull rumble, and their exhaust gave an unpleasant taste to every breath. In the midst of all this, a young man walked carefully along a deserted road, completely unnoticed.
He very much preferred it that way.
James Calendar had managed to get himself well and truly lost. He had been trying to get to Steel Canyon, and do a bit of cape-watching outside Icon. Unfortunately, after getting off the Yellow Line too soon, followed by a staggering number of wrong turns, he now found himself in a very bad part of south-central Skyway City; not a good place for a 15-year-old with no particular talent or skills. He was now trying to find his way back to the train station, but very carefully; he'd seen one of the local gang members carrying a sword as big as him, and obviously knew how to use it.
A scraping noise made James jump and whirl around, trying to find its source. The sound repeated, slowly growing louder, and making the young man look frantically in all directions. Suddenly, there was a crashing noise, almost deafeningly loud in the still air. A garbage can had tipped over, spilling its contents all over the already-grungy street. Suddenly, a hand clamped down over the fallen can, denting the metal slightly. James stood there, paralyzed in fear. The hand was obviously robotic, the metal a deep red underneath the scorch marks. The owner of the hand heaved himself into view, draping himself across the now-collapsing garbage can. Whoever he was, he was wearing a full helmet, his "face" framed by a pair of downward-slanting air intakes; the dull silver of the faceplate prevented James from seeing his face.
The words had left James' mouth before he could think better about it: "Hey, are you okay?" Idiot, he's lying in a back alley, of course he's not okay, how do you know he's not another of those Lost freaks...
The prone figure looked up at that, apparently as surprised as James was. Slowly, he pushed himself to the wall, and used it to haul himself up. James got a better look at the costume as the figure pulled himself upright; a red and grey color scheme, with black highlights and an eight-pointed star on his chest, the bottom flare elongated. On top of that, James could also see the signs of the fight he had been through in the scorch marks and scratches that almost covered the man entirely. His knee didn't look quite right, especially when it sparked fitfuly.
At this point, James knew he had two choices: get the hell out of there before this guy turned out to be a fugitive or something from the Zig (this option looked really good right now), or try and help the guy to the nearest hospital (despite the fact that an injured hero would be like blood in the water for every punk in town holding a grudge).
James swallowed hard, then walked over and draped the injured man's free arm over his shoulder, offering himself as support.
Damn, this guy's heavy! James thought as he staggered under the weight. He didn't consider himself a wimp, but this guy had to weigh like three hundred pounds! Chasing that from his mind, James said, "C'mon, man, we gotta get you to a hospital."
The figure suprised him by shaking his head in reply. James looked confused for a moment, then continued. "I know you guys are supposed to be tough and all, but whoever fought you worked you fierce. You really should see a doctor." The figure shook his helmet again, then stooped down to grab a stray rock from the street. Grinding it into the pavement, he scrawled out two words: DATA AP.
James stared at the "reply" for several seconds, then went wide-eyed as he puzzled out the meaning. "Atlas Park? Are you nuts, do you know how far that is? Not to mention that every nutcase on the street is gonna home in on you! Nah, I'm taking you to the local hospital, it's closer-" He was interrupted by the figure shaking his helmet again and tapping the words scrawled into the pavement. James was about to continue when he stopped himself short; for some reason, he simply knew that if he kept on arguing, this guy would ditch him and still try and crawl all the way to Atlas, completely alone. James gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. I'll get you to the train, we'll argue there where to go to."
The two of them had only made it about half a block before the twisted streak of luck that surrounded Paragon's heroes made itself known. It was James who saw them first: a pair of Hellions, well outside their turf, walking down the middle of the street. One had a shotgun perched on his shoulder, and the other was trailing a baseball bat along the ground, making a scraping noise that echoed off the walls. The two of them were obviously sharing some kind of joke, as their rough laughter drowned out all the other ambient noise. James and the injured hero ducked into the gap between two buildings, but it wasn't going to be enough; once those two saw them, it was gonna mean a great deal of pain. James kept his eyes on the closer of the two, thinking frantically to himself, You don't see us, there's nothing here, just keep on going, there's nothing here-
The one dragging the baseball bat turned his head to sweep the street, obviously looking for something or someone else to entertain himself with. His line of sight drifted to where the two were hiding...
-nothing'shereyoudon'tseeusjustkeepgoingdammitplease-
... and moved on, without even a glimmer of recognition.
James waited until the Hellions were out of sight before letting out the breath he had been holding. Beside him, he could hear the faint wheezing sound of the hero's breathing (it sounded kinda mechanical) do the same thing. The two looked at each other, and James began to giggle in hysterical relief. This wasn't what you saw in any of the shows about the heroes of Paragon!
About an hour and a half later, the two of them shuffled onto the walkway leading to the train station. James had tried to get the man's name out of him during the hike, but the last time he had tried, the figure had simply tapped his own throat and made a "no-go" gesture with his free hand. James took that to mean that he couldn't or wasn't supposed to say anything, and just let the matter drop. It had been a long walk, filled with several other close calls and interesting moments. All throughout the journey, James could see other heroes flying through the air, or the occasional blur as someone ran by at inhuman speeds. At no point did any of them seem to care what was happening on the ground. By this point, the young man's image of the hero population has developed a good-sized patch of tarnish, but he wasn't going to simply quit. Even if they didn't care, James had decided to do this, and dammit, he would see it through!
"You want cross bridge, you pay toll!"
Almost there. Almost there, and now a Troll was blocking the way, a grin making his already-ugly features even uglier. The troll continued in his rough pidgen of a language, "You beat, you go. Good?" This was followed by a loud, long laugh as the Troll made his estimate of the pair's chances clear. James' mind raced; he couldn't run fast enough lugging an injured hero around, and there was no way he could tackle a freakin' Troll, for-
James realized that the weight leaning against him had suddenly left; the hero was now bracing himself against the railing, trying to stand upright. The figure held up a hand, forestalling James' protest. Taking a shaky step, the hero very clearly stepped in between James and the Troll, and made a "come get some" gesture with his hand. James stepped back in shock as the Troll roared and began to charge. The air around the hero's hand began to glow slightly, wavering slightly, and something in the man's shoulder began throwing off sparks. The Troll reached back, starting to throw a punch that would knock the man's helmet clear off, when the air between the two rippled, sending the Troll flying back almost forty feet.
The thug landed with a thud, skidding another few feet. Snarling, he climbed off the pavement, and started shouting, "Me break! Then me break into little pieces, then break into littler pieces, then-" The diatribe was halted as the Troll suddenly vanished in a spray of light.
Hovering, the police drone assigned to the station chittered happily to itself. It had seen a danger, it had arrested a danger. It was content.
James took it all in with his jaw hanging loose. He had no idea that the injured hero could do that, much less how. Before he could ask, part of the man's shoulder erupted into a cascade of sparks, letting out a loud pop as it did so. Seeing the man sag after the explosion, James did his best to catch him on his good side. The two of them collapsed to the ground, the young man simply unable to support that much weight.
"Come on," he pleaded, "we're almost there! We'll get you to Atlas, and then they'll help you there, right?" He could hear the hero's respirator pick up speed, but the ragged tone seriously scared the young man. It steadied, though still sounded rough, and the hero gripped the railing and heaved himself back to his feet. With the young man's encouragement, the two staggered their way up the platform and boarded the train for Atlas Park.
Luckily, the trip from the Atlas Station to City Hall was considerably easier, except maybe for the stairs down. This time, they weren't molested while walking, but neither were they helped. There seemed to be even more flyers in the sky, circling the great statue of Atlas, and beneath it, dozens of heros were gathered around chatting amongst themselves (and it looked like some of them were having a freakin' costume contest, of all things!) and generally paying no mind to a teenager dragging an injured hero into the building.
Inside, things got a little more hectic. Just after getting through the door, the pair were almost run over by a man in a business suit and his attache. Stopping, the man began to give directions to the hospital, this wasn't a place to bring the injured- and then stopped as a spark of recognition crossed his face. In one smooth motion, he reached into his jacket, withdrew a smartphone, and thumbed a number without even looking.
"We need a crash cart to the building's entrance! Full rad/bio containment gear, and prep Lab 7!" Closing the phone without even waiting for a reply, he spoke to his assistant: "Let the Councilman's office know we're going to be a bit late, Andrew?" As the attache hurried off, the man leaned down. "Come on, let's get him out of the way," he said softly, and helped James with the load.
The next couple of hours were a blur. The injured hero had been picked up by a medical team wearing full-out contamination gear and rushed into the back. James himself had been sequestered in a small conference room near D.A.T.A.'s office where he had been swept with a Geiger counter, had blood drawn, and questioned over what had just happened. Right now, they were giving him a break, and James took the opportunity to rub at where the needle had gone in. They had said it was simply a precaution, and not to worry; since James hadn't felt weird or passed out afterward, he was inclined to take their word for it. His musings were interrupted by the door to the room opening again. Bracing himself for another round of questions, James was mildly surprised to see the same man in the suit who had met them at the entrance. Smiling, the man sat at the head of the table, not too far from James. Extending his hand across, the man introduced himself.
"I'm Rick Davies, I'm the D.A.T.A. liason here. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Calendar." James accepted the hand nervously, stammering out a polite "Hello".
Mr. Davies chuckled slightly as he sat back. "There's no need to be so worried. Given what you've been through so far today, I think we'll avoid mentioning your name to the truancy officers. You did just save the life of one of our city's heroes, after all."
James blinked in surprise. Noticing, Mr. Davies continued. "No, I'm not exaggerating much. Apparently, Nine disconnected his mediport beacon, which means we couldn't simply beam him to the nearest hospital. From what you've described, and from what we know about that part of Skyway, having a good pair of eyes and ears looking out for him really did save his life. If he had blundered into a Troll fight..." Davies trailed off and shrugged. "Luckily, that wasn't the case today."
James finally worked up the courage to ask a question. "Nine? Is that the guy I helped?"
Davies nodded in reply. "His full codename is Protocol 9. He's made a name for himself lately, especially with that business at the dam a couple of weeks back. Luckily, we have a good staff here, so he should pull through." He nodded to the band-aid on James' arm. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. We had to be sure you didn't absorb too much radiation, and a blood test is one of the better ways to check."
"Radiation?" squeaked James, his eyes going wide. Why would they need to worry about-
"Don't worry, you're fine. They came back clean," interjected Mr. Davies. "Nine draws his power from an onboard nuclear reactor. Given the beating he apparently went through, we had to be sure that he wasn't leaking anything. His casing's intact though, so you didn't absorb much more than you would if you had sat in front of your computer for a couple of hours." Davies sat back in his seat. "In fact, I suspect that's why his beacon was shut off - he's mentioned in the past that he's afraid of the teleporter doing something wrong one of these days, and taking out an entire district. But, as I said, he's recovering, and you're clean. And, you're free to go."
The offhand way the last remark was delivered meant that James didn't even realize it for a few moments. "Wait, what?"
Mr. Davies laughed at the teen's expression. "Sorry, I just couldn't resist. Like I said, you don't seem to have suffered any harm, so we don't need to keep you here. There's a cab waiting for you outside; we've already taken care of the fare, so don't worry about that. It's the least we could do," he added with a grin, rising from his seat.
James stood, looking a little shaken as the day's events caught up to him. "Umm... Could I, y'know, maybe see him before I go?"
Mr. Davies shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no. He's just gotten out of surgery. I can't give too many details, since there are privacy issues involved, but some of his internal components were damaged in the attack. As I understand it, they're going to keep him in here until at least the weekend."
"Oh," said James, his shoulders drooping. "Well, could you tell him I asked after him?"
Mr. Price nodded. As James walked past him and headed for the door, Mr. price stopped him. "Before you go, though, I want you to have this." Pulling a small card out of his jacket pocket, he handed it to the teen. Written in a businesslike font was "Prince Kiros Nandelu, G.I.F.T., Galaxy City", followed by a telephone number. As James took the card, staring at it quizzically, Mr. Davies continued somberly.
"I'm seriously impressed with what you did today, James. Not many people your age - hell, not many people, period - would stick their necks out to help a hero in need. For all you knew, whoever worked him over was about to come back and finish the job, but you still did your best to help out." He rested his hand on James' shoulder and looked the young man square in the eye. "That takes some serious guts. And that tells me that, if you want, you could make it as one of Paragon's best." Letting go, he held up his hand. "You don't have to decide right now. In fact, it's best you don't. Sleep on it, think it over for a couple of days, or weeks. This isn't something to be rushed; it's a major decision. But based on what you've shown today, I don't doubt that you could make it." Mr. Davies lowered his hand and held it out. "Well done, Mr. Calendar."
James accepted the proffered hand and shook it, bringing himself to look the older man in the eyes as he did so.
"Thank you, Mr. Davies. I'll think about it."
After taking his leave, James walked down the steps of City Hall to the waiting cab. It was a gorgeous day outside, the sun shining brightly, and he saw the cab waiting for him across the street in the shade. James paused before heading over to the cab, and stood looking at the massive statue in front of him. It was the statue of Atlas, a hero who had given his life defending against a sneak attack on the city in World War II, that gave the park it's name. He'd only seen the statue once, on a field trip back in grade school; now, seeing it again, he began to understand the risks of what they had asked him to do. But he also understood now that not many people would willingly risk themselves, risk their all, to help people they would probably never meet; the fact that he could must mean something.
Gripping the card tightly, James crossed the street and climbed into the cab. He was going to have to do a lot of thinking tonight; and that meant that he had better get his homework out of the way, first!
