Ed opened his second packet of crisps and turned up the volume on the television. This was the episode where they were finally going to reveal who had shot Jack Bradley. He leaned closer, partly in anticipation, but mostly so that he wouldn’t see the red light blinking to his left. He could still see the reflection of it bouncing off his favourite brassy barmaid as she leaned on the bar.
“Oo cares why they shot ‘im,” she said. “Ees only a bastard.”
“A bastard,” agreed Ed.
The flashing light was joined by a beeping noise. Ed groaned and rolled his chair over to the console. Keeping his eyes trained on the television he picked up the emergency phone.
“League headquarters,” he said.
[spoiler]He listened for a moment, blinked, sighed and hung up. The rest of the League were in Rio for Spiderbob’s surprise party, leaving Ed alone to man the phones. Reluctantly he clipped his cape onto his shoulders, and paused at the doorway for one last look at the television.
“Feck it anyway,” he said, as he stepped out onto the ledge and jumped. He allowed himself to drop for a few metres to give himself butterflies before he kicked off and upwards over the League’s headquarters, perched high on the mountain. As he set off towards Dehli he cursed his colleague. Just how many times was Spiderbob planning to turn 30 anyway?
A plume of dust rose up around Ed as he arrived at the market. He landed in a crouch, shoulders bent, head bowed. This was a pose he had worked on for a while, and he glanced surreptitiously from the corner of his eye to see if the crowd was impressed. But as the dust settled he saw that the crowd consisted of a small coughing boy and an angry looking bald man standing with his hands on his hips. Neither looked impressed by his landing so Ed stood up.
“So,” he said, dusting off his hands. “Whats the story here?”
The bald man took one hand off his hip and pointed behind Ed into the town square.
“Look,” he said. “Look at what she has done.”
Despite the destruction at the centre of the square, the remaining market stalls seemed to be bustling. Smoke rose from the middle of the market while customers bartered, chickens squawked, and donkeys pulled goods-laden carts. Ed pushed up his spandex sleeves and strode through the crowds to get past the outer ring of stalls. Inside, the market was like a maze and it took him several minutes before he pushed through the last of the merchants. The stalls in the centre of the market had been torn to pieces, the merchandise ground into the dirt. As he stepped through the rubble he could hear a loud keening sound. Clenching his fists he peeped around the last flapping piece of standing canvas. An old well stood in the centre of the square, and perched on the lip sat Callous Carla. Her breastplate heaved as she choked out the sobs, her mane of tangled hair bouncing with each deep gulp of air. Ed relaxed and stepped out into the open.
“Ah,” he said. “Its yourself.”
Carla’s head snapped up and she pounced to her feet, crouching into her attacking pose. Ed was not a short man but Carla still towered above him. He reckoned that she had to be threatening the seven foot mark. Even when she crouched he had to look up at her.
“Carla,” he said. “You can’t be at this craic.”
“Where are the others?” she asked, her eyes darting around the square. “You’re not here alone.”
“I’m afraid I am,” he said. “Everyone else went to Spiderbob’s party.”
She eyed him dubiously, still waiting for a surprise attack. When nobody else appeared she relaxed her shoulders, dragged a leather-bound wrist across her nose and ran a hand over her hair. With locks and snot taken care of she tried to affect a haughty look.
“And how exactly are you going to defeat on your own?” she asked.
Ed glanced around at the destruction in the market, then back at Carla. Two large curved swords hung from her belt. He could fly out of her reach of course, but he’d been flying for hours and he was tired.
“Eh,” he said. “Will we go for a drink?”
Carla kept the superior look on her face and looked away sharply.
“Fine,” she said.
The Governor’s Mansion stood on the south side of the square. Even though no Governor had lived there in over 20 years it was still called this by everyone in the area. The main drawing room was now a bar, with mismatched furniture and furry wallpaper. Callous Carla squeezed herself into a rickety chair while Ed bought a couple of warm, flat pints. Carla downed hers in one and slammed the glass back onto the table with a loud ‘ahh’. Adjusting her breastplate to make herself more comfortable she dropped her chin into one of her massive hands and sighed.
“Why doesn’t anybody take me seriously?” she asked. “I mean I might not be the first super villain that springs to mind, I’m no Dark Fairy, but I’m still dangerous. I should still instill fear
Ed took a long sip of his beer to avoid having to speak. Carla’s eyes swivelled towards the door.
“They didn’t even scream,” she said. “Not one of them. I arrived with arms and swords spinning like a whirling dervish. When I stopped to savour the terror I actually saw one of the women roll her eyes. God, where did it all go wrong?”
She waved at one of the waiters and pointed at her empty glass.
“Thats nothing,” said Ed. “Every single super hero on the planet got invited to Rio for the surprise party. Every hero except me. Oh they dressed it up like I was important, like if only one of us could be around to face danger then I was the man for the job. But I know whats what. I’m the one they can do without.”
He drained the rest of his drink and held up a finger to the waiter that was delivering Carla’s fresh pint.
“Not that I wanted to go,” he said. “Spiderbob gets on my nerves something fierce. You know he’s turning 30?”
Carla barked out a laugh.
“Again?” she asked.
Ed held up his hands, then sighing he rested them both, palms down on the little table. The waiter placed his drink down between them and Ed lifted his glass. Carla lifted her chin from her hand and raised her own glass.
“They’re only bastards,” she said.
“Bastards,” agreed Ed.
It takes a lot to get a super hero drunk, it takes even more to get a giant super villain drunk. But Ed and Carla were determined. By the time they stumbled out of the Governor’s Mansion the market had long closed. Ed tripped on the steps but caught himself before he hit the ground. Hovering inches from the dirt he giggled, then froze, waiting to see what his stomach was going to do next. Carla grabbed his cape and pulled him back to his feet. Still clutching it she glanced around, then, spotting something, she hauled him off across the square at a quick pace. Grabbing him under his arms she heaved him up onto a cart, startling the still-attached donkey. Ed sank into the cardboard boxes, watching her blearily as she leapt from the ground and landed on top of him. The boxes crumpled beneath Ed as Carla’s weight tipped the cart backwards, hoisting the whinnying donkey into the air. Ed looked back as the creature’s legs kicked wildly. They both began to laugh (Carla and Ed that is, the donkey didn’t consider it to be a laughing matter). Ed and Carla looked at each other. A flush of excitement and/or terror flipped Ed’s stomach as he studied the mass of hair and smudged lipstick hovering inches away from his face.
“Feck it,” he thought. “Why not?” as he lunged in for a messy kiss.
He awoke to find a wizened woman peering over the bottom of the cart. When she saw that he had woken she emitted a toothless tut and walked away. Ed pushed himself up. Carla was gone. He glanced around the square. It was still early and people were only beginning to set up their stalls. The donkey, now back on solid ground gave him an accusing look. Struggling, Ed clambered through the boxes and onto the ground. He made his way towards the Governor’s Mansion, dreaming of coffee and pain killers. Carla stood in the bar, glued to the television with the two other early morning patrons. He stepped up beside her, and noticing, she inclined her head towards him, keeping her eyes on the television.
"They’re all dead,” she said.
“Who?” he asked.
It turns out that putting every super hero on the planet in the one place at the one time might not be the best idea in the world.
Ed slumped into a chair and massaged his forehead with shaking fingers.
“They’re all gone,” he said. “I’m the only one left.”
Realisations seemed to hit him all at once from different angles.
He was alone…
He’d have to fight all of the evil in the world by himself…
He’d be so busy that he’d never find out who shot Jack Bradley…
And it served them right for not inviting him…
No that’s a terrible thing to think…
How would he live without his League brothers?
He’d never again play chess with Waxon…
Or flirt with Mary-Sue…
Or go shoplifting with Pixie Fingers…
“Hero Massacre!” read the banner on the television, as a black and white picture of Spiderbob filled the screen. Carla clamped his shoulder tightly.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Ah I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to avenge them.”
He put his head in his hands. He could take Dark Fairy in a fair fight, but Dark Fairy didn’t fight fair. Paperweight could be dealt with but he always left those horrible little paper cuts that stung every time Ed stuck his fingers into a packet of crisps. And The Disemboweller would make shite of him.
“Why even bother?” he said, sitting back up. “I have no chance.”
Carla hunched down and took his chin between two meaty fingers.
“Quit whining,” she said. “Sure all your friends are dead, and every super villain is going to want to finish you off. And sure you’ll probably be killed in a really horrible way. But you have to think positive. You have to sit up straight and tell yourself that you are a super hero.”
“I am a super hero.”
“THE super hero,” she said. “And a finer one I’ve yet to meet.”
Ed narrowed his eyes.
“How many have you met?”
“Well you, and Pixie-Fingers, and Spiderbob of course.”
“Feckin’ Spiderbob,” said Ed. “I never liked the prick.”[/spoiler]
Hrududu