Chapter Twelve:
Head First

By G

He had to resist the urge to cover his ears. That would’ve been ridiculously immature. Instead, he opted for the more grown-up response, and simply buried his head underneath his pillow. Even then, however, the sound of his aunt’s shrill voice screaming from downstairs was audible. Uncle Eric had smuggled a six pack of beer home after work; Aunt Ariel hated alcohol with a passion, and had no problem with venting her opinions on the evils of the substance. I guess I’m the lucky one, the blond boy thought with a smirk; he himself downed twice that on a weekend basis. Uncle Eric’s normal laid back tone was replaced by a growling yell, and boomed throughout the house. That’s when Zach sprang up from bed. There was a chance that this could go on for hours, and he had no intention of sticking around if that was to be the case. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed the skateboard from underneath his bed, and began his climb out the window.

“Zachary?” A calm, raspy voice pierced through the yelling. Zach rolled his emerald eyes before turning his head towards the glass tank that housed his amphibious guardian.

“Yes, sensei?” he said innocently, his voice dripping with sweet sarcasm.

“Shouldn’t you transform before you go out on patrol?”

“I agree with you one hundred percent,” Zach said with a nod of approval. “But I’m not going on patrol, so it’s all gravy.” Before the iguana could go into full on scold mode, the blond was halfway through his descent.

He rode around the streets for an hour or so, occasionally pausing to converge with some of the teenage elite. However, it didn’t last long; he wanted to be alone and clear his head. He felt like the world had gone bizzaro lately, and he hadn’t really had a chance to sort things out. The situation was intense. Here he was, sixteen years old, told that he had this incredible power that should be used towards the service of good ... and to eliminate others just like him. That didn’t sit well at all. To top it off, he had begun to hear quiet rumors around school and the town; nothing major, just whispers about strange costumed beings that hopped on nighttime rooftops and battled each other. Zach couldn’t help but smile mischievously. I’m guilty on both counts. Hyperion Knight’s first battle ended in his favor, even though he was clearly outmatched, and had won only by being sneaky and conniving. Well ... more so than usual. Even Phaeton, who was supposed to be his teacher and guardian, was vague whenever he questioned just what the hell they were fighting for. At the end of the day, Zach simply wished he wasn’t so in the dark, or even just for someone to talk to about all these seemingly cosmic problems.

A sign suddenly caught his attention, and he slowed down in front of it. “Cuppajoe‘s”, a coffee house. Zach scoffed; these places were artsy hangouts, ranking high on the loser scale. However, there weren’t many people, and it looked warm and inviting. He pushed aside his prejudice, and then the door. The smell of fresh coffee and cigarette smoke mingled in the air, which reminded him of early mornings back in New York with his parents. He chose a booth near the back, and slid in quietly. The place was dimly lit, save for a modest wooden stage in the center, where an older gentleman with graying dreadlocks read from a worn notebook. He was saying something about feeling like he was backed up against a wall with a truck two inches from his face. Amen brother, he thought as a lady dressed in a black sweater and jeans came over to his table.

“What can I get for you, sugah?” she asked warmly.

“Um ...” Zach paused. He hadn’t thought that there would be waitresses here. “Coffee?”

“That’s a strange choice,” she joked. “What kind?” She was met by a confused glare. She smiled. “I recommend Irish Cream.” I’m Irish, he thought.

“Sounds good,” he answered with an appreciative grin.

“Milk and sugar?“ The boy answered in the affirmative. She nodded and began to walk away.

“Um...miss?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I smoke in here?” he asked, almost shyly. The waitress couldn’t help but laugh softly, grabbing an ashtray off a nearby table and placing it on his. Zach pulled a pack of slightly squished Marlboro Lights, and lit one. He looked around, admiring the strange and colorful murals that coated the walls. He particularly liked the one nearest to him; a nude dark-skinned women with threads of fire twirling toward her from a bright star above. The man on stage said a quiet “thank you”, and the audience began to clap. Zach had mistakenly began snapping his fingers. Luckily no one noticed. He had accidentally flicked some ash onto himself in the process, wiping his white tee shirt and khaki pants furiously. When he looked up again, a young woman had taken a seat on the wooden stool on stage.

She was pretty enough, with long red-brown hair that tumbled in waves down her small back. The acoustic guitar she held accented her frail frame, yet she possessed an air of unspoken poise and confidence.

“Hi guys,” her deep and sultry voice captured everyone’s attention. “I was gonna do one of my poems tonight, but upon further investigation, it appears that everything I’ve written is shit so ...” The audience laughed heartily, as if they knew that this woman would come out with something like that. “...so I’m gonna try and do some Fleetwood.” She began to play the melody, slowly and carefully, and then began to sing.

Her words were powerful, spiraling through Zach’s ears and straight to his soul. He was totally captivated, oblivious to the fact that a hot mug had been placed in front of him. It was obvious that the song meant a lot to her; her face was contorted in emotion. She finished as softly as she had begun, and the audience applauded with uncharacteristic gusto. The woman smiled modestly, and made her way off stage. Zach smirked; he had thoroughly enjoyed that. Maybe these places weren’t so bad after all, he thought, squishing the smoky end of cigarette into the modest, plain metal ashtray, and eying the steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He sipped it hesitantly at first; he hadn’t had much experience with coffee. It was warm, sweet, and while leaving a strange aftertaste, he decided was very good.

“Hey kid?” a velvety voice said from above him. Zach nearly choked, looking up rather embarrassingly. The young girl who had performed peered down at him, indifference twinkling in her sapphire eyes. “You got a smoke?” Her whole demeanor had completely shifted. Gone was the ethereal, delicate song goddess that had graced the wooden stage. An all together normal young girl stared down at him, looking worn and haggard, and most of all, impatient. He nodded, failing to mask his disappointment, and reached into the crumbled pack.

“Here you go,” Zach said, handing her a cigarette. She grabbed it quickly, wedging it between her small lips, and lighting it with a dark brown Zippo. She took a drag, and looked down at it between her fingers.

“Ugh ... Lights? How can you smoke Lights?” she scoffed, slipping into the booth casually, and pulling the ashtray towards her side of the table. Zach looked at her with a mix of shock and disgust. “I say if you’re gonna kill yourself ... at least smoke a cigarette with some chemicals that‘ll do the job.”

“I can‘t smoke anything else,” he said defensively. This girl was already rubbing him the wrong way. And why the hell was she sitting at his booth, like he had invited her? Looks like I jumped to conclusions, he thought dismally. This place is a freak nest.

“Can’t or won’t?” she remarked nastily, and immediately turned her attentions to the stage. A stout woman craned her neck upwards, as if she was reading her poem off the ceiling. “Jesus, this wench again. She thinks she’s making some profound artistic statement by staring up when she performs.” She muttered another curse, blowing a wisp of smoke scornfully towards the stage. She turned her attentions back toward Zach.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, his tone almost matching her own in coldness. “I kind of wanted to be alone, so...” He gestured away from him, taking a confident sip of his coffee.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” she said matter-of-factly. “Why do you want to be alone?”

Zach reeled, taken aback by this girl’s audacity. “None of your business.” He was met by a hearty chuckle.

“Ooo, aren’t we tough?” she leaned back in mock dread. “What happened? They run out of Hawaiian shirts at Old Navy?”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna share my problems with a botched Courtney Love clone,” he answered, taking the last sip of his coffee. He dug into his pocket furiously, and threw a five-dollar bill on the table. This girl was making him physically ill.

“Hey, that crack whore doesn’t have shit on me,” she said with a casual sweep of her crimson locks. “I was much better at it.” He paused, looked at her deadpan expression, and laughed himself back into his seat.

“You were a crack whore? That’s something you don’t hear everyday,” Zach remarked.

“Well, no ... I used to fuck for heroin,” she said with a hint of nostalgia. She propped her head on her left hand, absently tracing a circle on the table with her finger.

Zach was stunned. “You’re ... joking, right?”

“Huh, don’t I wish? Not exactly the most glamorous portion of my life, but sure will make a good chapter for the memoirs,” she nodded, cracking her knuckles. Zach was speechless. What do I say to something like that?

“Veta, are you corruptin’ this fine young man?” a familiar, sweet voice broke the awkwardness. The waitress winked at Zach sweetly.

“Just hitting him with a bitter ol’ dose of the dark side,” the redhead called Veta mumbled. The waitress snickered a bit, and took Zach’s cup.

“You wan’ a refill, sugah?” she asked. He glanced at Veta, then up at the waitress.

“Yeah, he’ll have another on me,” Veta interjected. “And bring me a cup of hazelnut, would ya?”

“I guess,” the waitress said with a teasing edge to her voice, and disappeared again.

“So you gonna let loose, spiky?” Veta asked when the waitress had gone. “They say that’s it’s easier to talk about really personal shit with complete strangers than your closest friends.”

“I guess you sharing that particular snippet of your past proves that,” the boy said with an slightly exasperated laugh. “And my name is Zach, not ‘spiky’.”

“Yeah, okay. So it’s time for you to spill.” The silky sound of a saxophone began to play on the stage. Zach lit a cigarette, placing another in Veta’s waiting hand, and finally spoke.

“Basically, my life is spinning out of my control,” he said after a few moments. Veta’s eyes gazed into his, as if to procure more from him.

“Something happened to me a year ago,” he continued. “I can’t really go into detail, but it’s ... pretty major.” Zach didn’t like being so cryptic, but if Phaeton had drilled anything into his head, it was that the secret identity thing was to stay just that: a secret.

As the auburn-haired girl listened, she couldn’t help but be semi-disgusted. This kid was what? Fourteen? Every time this kid took a piss it was a crisis. Let him go through half the crap that she had...

No, Veta thought. Don’t even go there. Yeah, you’ve traveled a fucked up road, and face it, precious few compare to yours.

“And that’s basically it. It’s pretty messed up,” Zach finished, mashing a short, smoking cigarette butt into the ashtray. Damn, she hadn’t been listening. Improvise.

“Let me tell you a story, Zach,” Veta began. “There was this American family of four who traveled to France for vacation. They got to their hotel, got settled, and went out to dinner.”

“When they got back, the mom noticed that their camera and their toothbrushes had been placed on the bed. None of them had done it, so they get the manager and he apologizes and offers them another room. Nothing else had been tampered with, so the family accepts, and the rest of their trip is pleasant.”

Veta leaned forward, and continued. “When they get back to the States, they get their pictures developed. There’s some great shots of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. But there’s a few that show the bellboy smiling and naked on the bed, with four toothbrushes stuck up his ass.”

“Oh God ...” Zach drew back in his seat. “What ... what the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh ... nothing really. Just don’t trust the French.” Zach looked at her with mouth slightly ajar, and then laughed until tears rolled down his face. Veta smiled.

“Seriously though,” she continued when he had settled. “The world goes wackadoo as soon as you step out of the sandbox. It’s sad but true. Life is, ninety percent of the time, an overwhelming amount of shit. However, it all boils down to how you deal with it. You can stand around and complain about how bad it smells, like Fiona Crapple over yonder...” Veta gestured over to the stage, where a girl was almost in hysterics over how her lover had left her. “Or you can be like me, and jump in head first.”

The two stepped out of the coffee house, a chill breeze rushing past them. They stood out in front, splitting Zach’s last cigarette. An awkward filled the space between them.

“Um ... where do you live?” Zach finally asked.

Veta took a long drag of the cigarette. “Not far.”

“You want me to walk you?” Zach said, absently switching his board from one arm to the other.

“Why not?” she said, drawing her wool coat around her, and leading the blond boy down the block. After a few steps, she stopped.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re here.”

Zach looked around. “You live in a bodega?” he asked, gesturing to the small store they stood in front of with a smile.

She laughed, but it had a bitter edge to it. “No, I live here.” She patted the roof of a worn navy blue Chevy. Zach’s mouth dropped slightly, and he was silent for a second.

“I really wish you wouldn’t leave me speechless so often,” he said finally. Veta laughed again, reaching into her jean pocket, and taking out a set of keys. Zach wondered if why she needed all those keys if she lived in a car.

She opened the car door, and turned back to him, jiggling the keys. “Sentimental value,” she said, reading his slight questioning expression. “Take care, kid. You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. He dropped his skateboard onto the ground, and hopped on. “So will you,” he added, and glided up the block without looking back.

She’s an incredible person, Zach thought as he skated down the evening streets. She’s right, too. I just have to deal with whatever I get. There’s no use in fighting it. He suddenly felt better than he had in very long while. He zipped down the streets, skidding to a gravelly halt to glance down at the baby blue beeper clipped to his pocket. I’ve got a serious caffeine buzz on, and I think a little patrolling would do me good. Zach's head darted from side to side, and he ducked into a nearby patch of dying grass behind a parking lot across the street.

A quick flash of golden energy, and Hyperion Knight once again was leaping through the night air. For the next hour, he contented himself with a cursory sweep of downtown, pausing from time to time to try and sense any unusual energy patterns around him.

At ten twenty-nine, he found one.

He looked onward from his position on top of a nearby garage lot, into a clearing that faced the city impound. A lone figure stood, facing the mountains of twisted metal. Hyperion watched as the figure was enveloped in a vale of yellow light, and he winced. The power he felt was incredible. It surged forth in all directions, like a blaring car alarm.

Okay, this is where training comes in, Hype, he coached himself as he slithered behind the various cars, until he was about ten yards away, safely behind a parked truck. From there, he could tell that the person was obviously female, due to her slim figure, and the dark brown skirt that blew in the wind. Her head turned slightly, as if she was she knew he was there. Hyperion panicked, and jumped underneath the truck. I can’t believe I just did that, he thought miserably.

From where he was standing, or laying to be more precise, it appeared that she was talking to her own hand. Wonderful, he thought. A senshi with a few bows short of a fuku. However, she looked pretty involved in the conversation. Now was the time for a grand entrance. He slid slowly from underneath the car, and leapt onto the roof.

“Aren’t you supposed to have a sock over that thing?” he asked in a loud, noticeable voice. The girl whipped around, a look of shock and outrage on her face.

“Who the HELL are you?!” she said, a small spot crawling up her bare arm onto her shoulder.

“I am the Harbinger of Dawn, and the Raging Star, Hyperi...”

“Forget it! You‘re taking too long!” she scoffed, then tilted her head slightly, as if trying to hear something far away. “He’s one of them? But they’re not as powerful as I am, right?” Silence. “Good.”

“Hey Sailor Psycho, tell the leprechauns to take a breather while I take you out,” he said, crossing his arms. She smirked in response.

“The name’s Sailor Sculptor, junior. And I notice you haven’t made a move yet.” Hyperion grimaced, a blazing aura exploding around as he leapt into the air.

“Shining Dawn!” he yelled, thrusting his hand outwards, raining down shafts of light. The beams streaked toward the auburn-haired girl, her face lighting up with panic. She leapt awkwardly to the side just before they were on her. She wasn’t quick enough, as one beam managed to burrow into her right leg, just above her ankle. She shrieked, falling on her stomach into the dirt. She heard a pompous laugh from Hyperion.

“Goddamn it...that hurt so bad...Greco, you okay?” she asked. “Okay. Enough of this Mickey Mouse shit.” She got to her feet with a growl. “You gonna have to come up with something a little better than a lightshow to take me down, sport!!” she yelled across at him.

“I doubt it,” he yelled back. “You can hardly stand up! I’d say one more shot will end this pretty damn quick. You Romanus ain’t shit!” he laughed again.

“I’m not a Romanus, asshole. I’m an Astronomia, and you’re about to get your ass handed to you,” she proclaimed, standing as straight as she could. Her leg felt like it was about to pack it in. She closed her eyes, and concentrated.

Hyperion’s aura blazed wide once again, and he sent another volley of light towards her. That’s the ball game, he thought. Sculptor watched as the rays flashed toward her, flinching slightly at the brilliance. Just before they hit her, she swept her arm upward, leaving a trail of golden energy. The ground in front of her suddenly rose, shimmering faintly before changing into a steel door, six inches thick. The beams struck it with a resounding boom, leaving a series of deep, red hot dents. She opened her eyes as the patch of ground sunk back into its place.

“What?!” Hyperion’s screeched, his voice cracking slightly. “How the ... what the ...”

“You’re out of your league,” her voice was clear and even. His blank white eyes narrowed in rage, and in a flash, he was sprinting toward her. I have to get up close and personal, or I’ll get spent before I know it. He threw his fist forward, aiming for her chin.

“World REVOLUTION!” He heard her voice, and then the roar of the blast that engulfed him. Suddenly, he was weightless. Time ceased. His intestines began to ooze out of his belly button very slowly. His fingers became horrible grinning red worms. His limbs detached, and reattached at completely wrong angles. He tried to scream, but his tongue exploded when he tried to use it. All he could do is pray for death.

And suddenly, he was lying with his cheek to the dirt, curled up in a ball. Tears rolled down his face as he whimpered incoherently.

“Listen well,” her voice spit hell into his ear. “I want you to remember how close you came to dying tonight. Next time we meet, I’m going to end you and everyone else on your side.” He listened harder than he ever had before. He opened his eyes, and through blurry vision, off in the distance he saw an image that sent him plunging deeper into despair.

Parked in the distance, was a blue Chevy that was too familiar to be coincidence. Using all his strength of will, Hyperion rolled over slightly until his glossy white eyes looked into hers.

“Why .... Veta?” he choked out. Her face dropped as the realization dawned on her. It was a question without a trace of blame; it was merely a young boy wondering why he was fighting, enduring unimaginable agony, inflicted by a person who he had no real quarrel to begin with. Sculptor was sickened by the weight of confusion.

“I ... I ...” she stammered. She felt the familiar tickle of the spider on neck. “Remember what I said.” She bounded off in a flash of copper.

Hyperion eventually managed to stand up after the initial disorientation of being molecularly eviscerated. The cold night air bit at him as he struggled to walk back home. The sigil on his forehead fizzled away, along with his armor. His skateboard materialized into his hands, and he began the long, painful ride back home.

Zach walked through his door as quiet as he could, taking a whole minute to close the door. All he had to do was traverse the squeaky fifth step and he was home free.

“Late night?” his uncle asked as he turned on the hall light.

In an barren parking lot across town, Veta curled up in the backseat of the old blue Chevy. Tears trailed down her cheeks as she wrapped up a severe burn on her leg with an old bandana.

“Yep,” she muttered, tightening the knot. “Life stinks pretty fucking bad.”

return to the legend