Frank Bigelow/Sommersby
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
(This is an early adventure in the career of Frank Bigelow of The Cerulean Legion.)
Frank collapsed in a shadowed corner and stopped breathing. The noise from the cave’s nearby air recycler would likely have covered his gasping, but why take chances? Breathing was an old habit, anyway. After a few seconds, six pairs of jackboots clomped past, eventually fading down the hall. They’d missed him.
Frank took a quick assessment. Some gunshot wounds, a severe flamethrower burn on his shoulder, plus a lingering chill from some purple energy the Galaxy shot at him. The shard’s energy would fix that stuff soon enough. The bigger problem was the pain in his hips, which the shard seemed maddeningly indifferent to. As it turns out, the Vahzilok don’t construct their zombies for functionality. Each of Frank’s legs had belonged to different people, as had his pelvic area, chest, head, arms, and – strangely – several of his fingers. When the jerks had stitched the body together to house Frank’s brain, they hadn’t bothered to notice that the legs weren’t an exact fit with the hip joints and, voila, unnatural arthritis. Most of the time it wasn’t a problem, but in a tense situation (like, say, running from a small army of Council thugs) bone scraped bone and Frank felt every bit of it.
Frank cursed to himself. For his first week, he’d simply been glad to be “alive.” He had been dead, so awareness itself was a gift. The shard had filled him with a sense of purpose and power. And, even better, he was a hero and a member of the Cerulean Legion! He was here to save the world. Hell, the universe. Welcome back, Frank.
But now he was crashing back to reality. He had seen the stares his teammates had given him. They were all healthy, in their prime. The shard made that happen, but it had left Frank like this. Frank’s only theory was that it had something to do with his body. This body never had a “prime.” It was never even a single person. Maybe the shard had tried to make it work, but simply couldn’t. Fine, OK. Then why choose Frank at all? There had to be some mission he was meant to accomplish, but nobody could tell him what it was.
That’s why Frank took this mission when it was offered. He had been hunting down some Vahzilok in Perez Park when the call came in from his acquaintance, Huge Redding. There was a Council leader, Archon Sommersby, that had been causing a huge stink in the city, trying to make his name. Redding wanted Sommersby taken out before his power play spilled over onto innocent people. Frank hesitated. The Council was big time, and just yesterday Frank had made a fool of himself in front of John Talbot and Kirste Kallunki in a Circle of Thorns hideout. Tackling the Circle had exposed Frank’s inexperience, and had nearly gotten all three of them killed. But Frank wasn’t taking on the strongest troops. These were Galaxy City brand Council, easy pickings.
Yeah, right. Once again, Frank had rushed into the fight ill-prepared. The jerks were ready. Now the base was on alert and Sommersby had retreated to the deepest parts of the cave. Drawing him out was, at best, a long shot. With luck, Frank could hide until they stopped searching and sneak out. Then maybe he could call out to the rest of the Legion for help…
No! Frank shook his head. He was Cerulean Legion now. The shard chose him just like everyone else. He could do this. He just had to have faith in the shard, like Joshua Caine. Trust it. Come on, Frank, think!
Frank banged his head against the wall behind him, doubt creeping back into his brain. Think? What’s there to think about? This—
CLANK.
Frank stopped and turned around. He had assumed this dark corner was rock, but that sounded like metal. He ran his gloved hands along the wall until the rough stone smoothed out. His fingers ran across a latch. A hidden door. He pushed at the latch until it gave up, finally opening with a wrenched thud. The door swung inward. Frank stood up and stepped inside.
If breathing was a necessity, Frank would surely have choked on the dust. Nobody had been in this room in ages. Frank left the door to the room open a crack, allowing the fluorescent light to illuminate the scene in front of him. Boxes of all size and shape were stacked about. A storage room. Frank sighed in disappointment. Anything useful wouldn’t have been left here for so long to rot. Still, it never hurt to check. Frank opened a box and rummaged around inside. Something round, hard. He pulled out an object and gave it a look in the light. A helmet. Strange. Not a Council uniform. There was some kind of symbol on it. Frank looked closer. Suddenly, his eyes widened. A wicked grin spread across his dry, dead face. He had an idea.
Simon, a Nebula Elite, looked at his Galaxy companion. “I told you, we’re on the way up. Did you get a look at that guy’s uniform?”
The Galaxy sighed. “No, and neither did you. He was too far away.”
“Hey, I have excellent hero uniform retention. And I’m telling you, that guy was one of the Cerulean Legion. We drove off a member of the Cerulean Legion!”
The Galaxy tried to brush this off, but after a loaded second he took the bait. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely,” Simon explained. “The blue on black? The symbol? Ivan Cross put me in the Zig a few months back and I’d recognize that uni anywhere. I never forget the guys who pinched me.”
“So, wait,” the Galaxy stopped him. “You’re knowledge of superhero costumes comes from getting arrested?”
“I contribute to the cause,” Simon beamed.
The Galaxy shook his head sadly. “I need to get reassigned.”
The conversation halted at the sound of a loud bang from the air vent above them. The two Council soldiers looked at each other, then aimed their weapons toward the vent. The Galaxy reached carefully for the vent’s maintenance latch. Then, silently, the two counted. One… two… three! The Galaxy threw open the latch.
- WHUMP*
A uniformed body fell out of the vent and landed in front of the two soldiers. Simon screamed and fired off a shot, but the Galaxy pushed aside his gun. Both soldiers examined the body closer. The body was a soldier, dressed in red and black. He was wearing a mean-looking helmet that covered his face, adorned with an almost-forgotten symbol. Simon looked at the Galaxy. “Is that…?”
The Galaxy nodded. “A 5th Column soldier.” The Galaxy reached down and pulled off the helmet, revealing a skull-like, decayed face. Both soldiers pulled back in disgust.
“Ugh!” said Simon. “He’s been dead a while. How long has he been up there?”
The Galaxy held back his gag reflex. “Since we took the base, I guess.” He spit on the ground. “Better call Sommersby.”
Later, Archon Sommersby stood over the “dead” 5th Column body, laughing. Simon took digital photos, while the Galaxy regaled Sommersby with his tale. Sommersby’s four bodyguards chatted about the find to themselves.
“And he just fell right out. I mean, wow, what are the odds?”
Sommersby got done laughing. “Maybe he was waiting up there for his moment!” He snorted a bit, then launched into a fresh laughing fit.
Simon cackled and took another photo. Sommersby leaned against the wall of the room, then waved to his bodyguards. “Guys, go tell the others. They have to see this.” The bodyguards nodded and went their separate ways, leaving Sommersby alone with Simon and the Galaxy. The Archon turned to his minions. “OK, OK. So where was he again? For the report.”
The Galaxy reached up to the air vent and swung it open. “Right there. Who knows how long he had been right there, just waiting for us to find him?”
The smile on Sommersby’s face dropped. “Wait. He was in an air vent?” The Galaxy nodded. Sommersby pulled his gun. “You idiots! Then why didn’t we smell him while he rotted? Or why didn’t we spot him when we did routine maintenance on that vent three weeks ago!?”
The Galaxy and Simon looked at each other, then back at their boss. Sommersby clenched his fist, then pointed the gun at the 5th Column soldier. At that exact moment, though, the body was glowing a bright shade of blue.
“Oh…. drat,’ said Sommersby. The dead soldier winked, grinned, and then the room exploded with blue energy and light.
Frank climbed out of the cave and back into the fresh air of Galaxy City. He put in a call to the Paragon Police Department, then waited by the door until they arrived to make the arrests. One of the sergeants – Myers – took a moment to speak to Frank. Without a hint of disgust on his face, he shook Frank’s hand and thanked him for his assistance. Later, after Frank had returned to his Vahzilok hunt, he remembered that moment.
And he smiled.
