8Fold/Acra/HCC: My Father's Son #2 [HCC20]

[Saxon Brenton]

[8Fold/Acra/HCC] My Father's Son #2 [HCC20]

My Father's Son #2
An Eightfold series

'My So-Called Life'
written by and copyright 2011 Saxon Brenton
(Tying in with the 20th High Concept Challenge: 'Behind Blue Eyes')

Cover shows an angry looking Kevin Duchamp prising himself out of a
rubbish bin that he has been stuffed into.


Over breakfast the next morning Slowpoke mused on the pattern that
was developing and wondered what the Crime Mime's next caper would be.
The silent film festival, and before that the clown exhibition at the
museum, represented the events that the Mime had already assaulted.
Now the teenager was sitting alone at a table at the school cafeteria,
using his textpad to scroll through the various news feeds and online
newspapers that he subscribed to in hope of getting inspiration, while
simultaneously spooning his cereal into his mouth.
He'd already noticed and dismissed an article about a party at the
French embassy, since it was in Washington and therefore half a continent
away. Now Slowpoke's attention was caught by another article, this one
about a charity fundraiser for the deaf.
Of course actually, it was patterns, plural. The mime related
heists were only the most obvious pattern. The other was that of a
villain committing high profile theme crimes as a way of getting
attention rather than as a way of becoming rich.
.oO( Or merely becoming rich, ) Slowpoke mentally amended, recalling
the theft of last night's takings at the film festival. But the
principle remained. These days there were easier and more lucrative
ways of pulling a crime than, say, robbing a bank and running away with
whatever you could carry.
.oO( Huh, ) thought Slowpoke, suddenly amused and savouring the
irony. The Crime Mime had probably been hoping for some big name four-
colour hero to fight with and maybe cultivate as an arch nemesis. Win,
lose or draw, the benefits to the Crime Mime's reputation would be
enormous. .oO( And instead he got me. A relative newbie and a pimply
faced kid to boot. ) Well, not that the black cape would know about the
acne; that was one more reason Slowpoke wore the type of mask he did.
In any case it must be taking all the Crime Mime's skill and willpower
to keep in character and not scream in frustration.
.oO( Well, too bad. ) Slowpoke wasn't interested in being one of
those dilettante heroes who fought villains because he was bored and who
thought it was acceptable to engage in metaphorical chess games while
innocent bystanders were at risk.
The young hero also briefly checked the output of the search filter
that he'd set up to trawl through various social media sites, just in
case someone else had stumbled across a pertinent piece of information
or been struck with a useful insight. He examined the first few results,
then did a quick scan of a few dozen more, but there wasn't anything that
he could see among all the babble. Well-staffed law enforcement bodies,
or people with no life, might have the time and resources for an in-depth
analysis, but unfortunately he didn't.
Especially not when he was busy being picked on by school bullies.
The very first superhuman power that Slowpoke had ever developed was
empathy, at age five. It was a useful (but by no means infallible) tool
in his crime fighting arsenal. Even after years of practice it didn't
work over exceptionally long distances, but within its range it was
powerful and discriminatory, allowing him to sense and identify people
by their emotional states.
Slowpoke acted casual and slipped his textpad back into his pocket
as they tried to sneak up behind him. He even doodled with a fingertip,
drawing lines on table top as he feigned obliviousness to the sudden
anticipatory quiet that had settled over the cafeteria. A quietness
broken only by the occasional snigger.
"Shit, what are you up to now Douchecamp?" said Jackson loudly for
the benefit his audience as he grabbed Slowpoke and hefted him up out of
his seat.
"Planning his big black cape scheme for world domination," jeered
Trisha. She may have been the one with superhuman strength, but since
she was female she didn't usually participate in the actual roughhousing
herself. Funny how someone who had several times claimed that she wanted
to be a positive female role model fell back into gender cliches like
that, but then Slowpoke suspected that it was just a useful sounding
catchphrase that she had developed to answer why she aspired to be a
four-colour hero. In any case Jackson tossed Slowpoke to Singh, and
neither of them actually needed superhuman strength to do it. It was
simply another drawback that Slowpoke suffered from being so small.
Then, after a condescending noogie, Singh stuffed Slowpoke head first
in a trash bin.
"Okay folks, nothing to see here," Jackson proclaimed. "The
villain's been defeated." The cafeteria filled with laughter.
Slowpoke blushed angrily and looked flustered as he prised himself
out of the bin, and because he was in a situation where there were young
telepaths who might want to voyeuristically savour his embarrassment he
also made the effort to think Kevin's thoughts. Embarrassment and
resentment, mainly. Meanwhile it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps
he was being hasty in dismissing the possibility of the Crime Mine
targeting the party at the French embassy. Just because Slowpoke didn't
have the means to travel across the continent at a whim didn't mean that
the Crime Mime couldn't.
No, wait, that didn't make any sense. If the Crime Mime could flit
across the country he wouldn't be making repeated appearances in the
mid-west, at venues like silent film festivals and local museum exhibitions.
Slowpoke went to change into clean clothing for school.


The day progressed. Slowpoke dutifully paid attention in his
classes, but his heart was set on four o'clock when he could make his
escape from school. Much like any student, really.
The only other bit of unpleasantness came just before lunch, when
he was cornered by the school counsellor.
John Danisee confused Slowpoke and in some ways scared him. And
not just because Danisee was a psi who could find out about his extra-
curricular heroing and spoil everything. Rather, he was an authority
figure that Slowpoke did not -- could not -- trust. Moreover since
Danisee and the other teachers at Burlington College held so much
authority over state orphans such as himself, Slowpoke frequently felt
helpless and not in control of his own life.
Mr Danisee said, "Kevin, I've been told there was an incident at
breakfast this morning."
"Yes, sir."
"You want to tell me about it?"
Kevin shrugged. It was a good piece of recalcitrant teenaged body
language, that shrug. "Some guys snuck up behind me, and shoved me head
first in a trash bin," he said, truthfully. It wouldn't be a good idea
to lie to Danisee, not considering that part of his psi was a degree of
truth-sensing.
"Head first, huh? So you didn't get to see them?"
"No."
"I guess that means you don't know who was responsible?"
Slowpoke contrived to look uncomfortable, then said, "Adam Jackson,
Dennis Singh and Trisha Neal." When Danisee looked surprised, Slowpoke
added, "I recognised their voices."
Danisee nodded, but Slowpoke could feel his disappointment at this
confirmation of identity. Well, of course. They were all popular and
otherwise well respected seniors.
"So did you do anything to set them off?"
It wasn't quite the insulting question it first seemed. Whoever
had told the counsellor -- probably the cafeteria staff -- might not
necessarily have caught the start of things. And he was asking, 'Did you
do anything?' rather than 'What did you do?'
"I didn't do anything! I was finishing my breakfast and they just
came up and attacked me! They even joked that I was a black cape
planning a world takeover!"
"You know Kevin, the bullies would stop picking on you if you stood
up for yourself."
Slowpoke dug his hands in his pockets. "There were more of them
than me, and they've got powers. All that would have happened is it
would have started a fight, and,"
"And...?"
"And they would have loved that, because everyone would have
automatically blamed me. Heads they win, tails I lose."
Danisee gave the boy a doubtful look. "Not everyone is out to get
you, you know," he admonished. Then he smiled. "Just think about what
I said, okay? Don't worry, I'll look into things. Everything will be
fine."
They went their separate ways. Slowpoke thought about the
counsellor's parting words. They were fine words. Even inspiring words.
And the worst thing was that Slowpoke knew from past experience that if
they had been spoken to someone else they might even mean something.
Slowpoke was aware of how effective a counsellor John Danisee was, and
how much effort and care he put into helping children.
However Slowpoke had never psensed that sort of concern directed at
him. Not. Fucking. Once. Not from Danisee. Not from any other
counsellor or welfare worker, whether good, bad or indifferent. It had
driven him mad trying to figure out what made him so different. There
had even been times over the years that Slowpoke had ruefully wished he
had full telepathy himself, simply to do some intensive psnooping and
get to the bottom of the matter, once and for all. The fact that his
biological father was a black cape simply didn't cut it as an excuse.
Not when he had psensed the help that had been given to a number of
other children with the same problem of heritage.
And that was why John Danisee scared Slowpoke. Not because he had
ever physically menaced the teenager, and only peripherally because he
was a potential threat to Slowpoke's secret identity. Danisee's
inexplicable behaviour brought Slowpoke up short with self doubt and
made him ask himself, 'What is wrong with me?'


Later that evening, in Chicago.
The Crime Mime had everyone captured -- guests, organisers and
security. He'd just sauntered in and mimed a few movements, and it was
done. Everyone encased in those force fields of his. Not for the first
time Slowpoke marvelled at how the villain had been able to create so
many prisons, so quickly, for so many moving targets. He had a theory
about that which he wanted to try.
Slowpoke stepped out of his place of concealment to confront the
malefactor in whiteface makeup. "Stop right there, Crime Mime," he
said. "Surrender and you won't get hurt."


Next issue: 'Rematch'

==========

Character credits:
All characters here are created by Saxon Brenton.

Author's notes:
Not really *inspired* by the 20th High Concept Challenge ('Behind
Blue Eyes' (about character motivation)), but certainly prodded along
by it.
As I mentioned in the last author's notes, the events of the first
two issues were originally going to be published together in a premier
issue. The basic concept (and to a large extent, specific events) of
this issue was planned out from the start. However getting motivated to
write up those events has been a pain, over and above my normal tendency
towards procrastination. How fortunate then that the 20th High Concept
Challenge -- about exploring character motivation -- came along and
dangled the perfect opportunity and excuse to force myself to finish
this off.
Now that all the setting up is finally done, here's a promotional
blub from 2006 that was written concurrently with the series proposal.
The exact setup has been tweaked slightly since then, but the high concept
of 'troubled teenager with an obsessive superheroing addiction' remains.

| Kevin Duchamp is what's referred to as a 'troubled youth'. His father
| is a notorious if third-rate supervillain, and so Kevin was been taken
| into institutional care, everybody *knows* that he's going to go bad,
| and his life sucks.
|
| And like a lot of teenagers who have trouble coping, the only thing that
| makes his life bearable is the solace he takes in his addiction.
|
| No, not alcohol or hard drugs, or even running with a gang.
|
| Kevin suffers from obsessive-compulsive superheroing.
|
| Coming this weekend from Eightfold:
|
| 'My Father's Son' written by Saxon Brenton


-----
Saxon Brenton University of Technology, city library, Sydney Australia
saxon....@uts.edu.au saxonb...@hotmail.com
"These 'no-nonsense' solutions of yours just don't hold water in a complex
world of jet-powered apes and time-travel." - Superman, JLA Classified #3

[Andrew Perron]

On Mon, 20 Jun 2011 22:38:32 +0000 (UTC), Saxon Brenton wrote:

> "Planning his big black cape scheme for world domination," jeered
> Trisha. She may have been the one with superhuman strength, but since
> she was female she didn't usually participate in the actual roughhousing
> herself. Funny how someone who had several times claimed that she wanted
> to be a positive female role model fell back into gender cliches like
> that, but then Slowpoke suspected that it was just a useful sounding
> catchphrase that she had developed to answer why she aspired to be a
> four-colour hero. In any case Jackson tossed Slowpoke to Singh, and
> neither of them actually needed superhuman strength to do it. It was
> simply another drawback that Slowpoke suffered from being so small.
> Then, after a condescending noogie, Singh stuffed Slowpoke head first
> in a trash bin.

Interesting. I wouldn't think that someone with such an obvious outward
streak of cruelty would even keep up the pretense - at least, without
trying to hide said streak.

> And that was why John Danisee scared Slowpoke. Not because he had
> ever physically menaced the teenager, and only peripherally because he
> was a potential threat to Slowpoke's secret identity. Danisee's
> inexplicable behaviour brought Slowpoke up short with self doubt and
> made him ask himself, 'What is wrong with me?'

Oooooooh. This, now, this is wonderful great.

>| And like a lot of teenagers who have trouble coping, the only thing that
>| makes his life bearable is the solace he takes in his addiction.
>|
>| No, not alcohol or hard drugs, or even running with a gang.
>|
>| Kevin suffers from obsessive-compulsive superheroing.

Awesome. I can really feel it, too; the flat affect is part of it.

Andrew "NO .SIG MAN" "Juan" Perron, empathy... wow.

[Scott Eiler]

"Saxon Brenton" wrote in message
news:SNT127-W57AD07EDE...@phx.gbl...

> However Slowpoke had never psensed that sort of concern directed at
> him. Not. Fucking. Once. Not from Danisee. Not from any other
> counsellor or welfare worker, whether good, bad or indifferent. It had
> driven him mad trying to figure out what made him so different.

Hmmm, I psense the Power Limitation commonly known as Hole in the Middle.