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  SO NOT A HERO

  S.J Delos

  © 2015 S.J. Delos

  Cover art © 2015 by Rachel Bostwick

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living, dead, or trapped in an alternate dimension are purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful wife, Kimberley, who knows more about the planet Krypton, the Speed Force, and the mutant X-gene than any non-geek should. I love you, baby.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1: A REALLY BAD DAY

  CHAPTER 2: AN UNEXPECTED OFFER

  CHAPTER 3: A FORCE FOR GOOD?

  CHAPTER 4: INTO THE HEROES’ DEN

  CHAPTER 5: A BRAND NEW START

  CHAPTER 6: FORGING FRIENDSHIPS

  CHAPTER 7: DEBUT OF A HERO

  CHAPTER 8: THE ‘D’ IN DYSFUNCTIONAL

  CHAPTER 9: THROWING PAINS

  CHAPTER 10: UP IS THE ONLY WAY TO GO

  CHAPTER 11: THE UNBURIED PAST

  CHAPTER 12: JUST LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE

  CHAPTER 13: TEAMING UP AND OTHER ACTIVITIES FOR TWO

  CHAPTER 14: THE DESCENT OF THE OTHER SHOE

  CHAPTER 15: CLOSING OLD WOUNDS

  CHAPTER 16: MAKING FRIENDS AND INJURING ENEMIES

  CHAPTER 17: REPAIRING BRIDGES

  CHAPTER 18: A COLOSSAL PROBLEM

  CHAPTER 19: WHISPERS, CLAIMS, AND THINGS LEFT UNSPOKEN

  CHAPTER 20: THE EVIL YOU DIDN’T KNOW

  CHAPTER 21: SO NOT A VILLAIN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

  CHAPTER 1: A REALLY BAD DAY

  I had thought becoming homeless would be the low point of my day. Of course, that was before Nite-Star slapped me with a mailbox.

  The sound of someone pounding relentlessly on my apartment door dragged me from deepest slumber and into the brightness of another new morning. I cracked open one eye to check the Spider-Man alarm clock on the wooden crate beside my bed. The web-slinger stated adamantly that it was far too early for such a racket. Especially given the amount of booze I’d consumed the previous evening.

  By the time I managed to pry open the other eyelid, I had a pretty good guess as to who my early morning visitor might be. I didn’t really have any friends. Or at least, none that knew where I lived. And I doubted that Doctor Maniac, or any of my other former associates, would bother with knocking on the door. Which could only mean that the person standing outside my apartment was my landlady, Mrs. Rogers.

  My restless sleep had twisted the blanket around my legs and when I tried to get free, I tore a large rip down the middle. I swore softly in Japanese and kicked the ruined covers away before climbing out of my makeshift bed. It wasn’t much more than a mattress plopped in the middle of the room, but since I couldn’t afford a real bed with a dura-streel frame, it had to do.

  Even though I looked like I weighed about one-fifteen, it was actually closer to eight-fifteen. The Enhanced Durability of my body made me tougher than a titanium-covered diamond, but added a ridiculous amount of atomic mass. Ordinary furniture couldn’t handle the stress put on it by my power.

  I headed across the small room to the door, careful not to stomp too hard. The flooring was cheap wood and any holes I made would come out of my deposit. The pounding on the door continued as I gently unfastened the trio of security locks, wondering for the bazillionth time why I even bothered. I didn’t have anything worth stealing and if someone broke in while I was home, woe be unto them. I twisted the last lever, turned the knob, and pulled open the door as I put on my cheeriest smile. “Mrs. Rogers. What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here this beautiful Wednesday morning?”

  The landlady was a tiny thing, not quite five feet tall, with completely white hair and enough wrinkles to rival a pug. She looked like she was just shy of her hundredth birthday and one arm constantly quaked with little tremors. Mark Something or Other in Unit B2 told me that it was because she’d survived more than a dozen strokes. He’d revealed that little factoid with a tone of somber reverence in his voice and downcast eyes of concern. As for me, I’d thought that if God was trying to kill Mrs. Rogers, He should probably just give up.

  “Don’t give me that ‘good morning’ crap, little girl. I’m here to tell you that you’re out.”

  “I’m out?” Since I was pretty sure I wasn’t gay—much less even in the closet—I could only guess what she meant. “You mean evicted?”

  “As of today. I want you gone in an hour.” She pushed the thick-rimmed glasses up higher on her hooked nose.

  “What did I do?”

  She glared at me with a fury that set my spine on edge and made my bladder whine about needing to be emptied. I’ve faced all kinds of super-powered beings and none of them had ever managed to match the intimidation level coming from the withered old lady before me. “Because I do not rent to criminals.” The non-shaking hand at her side came up holding a piece of paper I hadn’t noticed before and shook it an inch from my nose. “When you filled out this rental form, you did not check the box that reads ‘Yes, I am a convicted felon.’ Instead, little missy, you checked the other box!”

  I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. I’d hoped given the landlady’s extreme age, she might not know how to check the criminal database, much less access the Enhanced Abilities section. “Would it matter if I apologized and explained that I’m a changed person now?”

  She shook the paper again. “It would not. I hate liars in general and like super-powered criminals even less. You, Karen Hashimoto, a.k.a Crushette, are both. Now pack your things and get out of my building.”

  A couple of the neighbors’ doors opened and sleepy faces peered out to see what the commotion was all about. Mrs. Rogers ignored them all and continued to bore holes in me with her eyes. I had to give it to the old bag, most people who knew who I was wouldn’t have had the brass ones to scream at me like that. Much less before I’d had any coffee.

  I think the fact that I didn’t just grab her and toss her three counties over said a lot for how much I’d truly reformed.

  I sighed again. “Okay, Mrs. Rogers. I’ll be gone in an hour. Sorry for lying to you.”

  The paper danced at the end of my nose again. “One hour. After that, I’m calling the EAPF and have them send someone to make you leave.” She turned around and marched away, not giving me the tiniest bit of a look back. Several of the curious faces watched her leave and then turned back to me. I responded with a shrug and went back into the soon-to-not-be-my apartment and began putting my possessions together.

  Less than thirty minutes later, I stood on the sidewalk outside my former residence with a frown on my face and everything I owned in the world in the bag across my back. In addition to the Spidey clock, the bag contained a couple of changes of clothes, a few dog-eared paperbacks, and a family photo album. I’d left the crate, the mattress, and the single set of dishes for the next tenant.

  I also left several holes in the floor for Mrs. Rogers to find, because I was mad at being kicked out like that.

  I shifted the pack into a better position and walking in the direction of the nearest shelter. Hopefully I’d be able to score a mat on the floor to rest my head for an evening or two until I figured out a new place to live. If every slum owner in the greater Charlotte area was as biased as that little old lady, I was going to be in serious lodging trouble. My mind had begun to consider the pros and cons of just camping out in a park when a familiar voice set my teeth to aching.

  “Well, look at this. Seems my dirty angel has gone and gotten herself displaced.”

  I stopped walking, closed my eyes, counted to five, and pushed down the delicious desire to smash something–or someone–before I dared to turn around to look at the speaker. “Frederick. To what do I owe this i
mpromptu visit?”

  My parole officer leaned out the window of the decommissioned Hummer and flashed me a lecherous grin. “I got an interesting phone call from a Mrs. Gloria Rogers a little while ago. That name ring a bell?” I hated the sing-song quality in his voice and I despised the way his hungry eyes slipped up and down over my body. Fred was the kind of guy who could make a girl in a suit of power armor feel indecently exposed just by looking at them. It wasn’t an Enhanced trait, either. He was just that kind of sleaze.

  “I might have known she would have called you. Probably before she trudged up the steps to tell me to get lost.” I shouldn’t have been surprised. If the old lady had been savvy enough to find my record in the database, then she would have surely seen the name of the guy assigned to keep an eye on me. “I wasn’t doing anything criminal or destructive. I promise.”

  He nodded, wolfish smile still in place. “I believe you, cutie. However, you know as well as I do that the conditions that keep you out of the Max include a legitimate income and a stable residence.” The grin widened and made me feel that my day wasn’t going to get better anytime soon. “I also heard you got fired the other day, too. Right?”

  I shrugged. No use denying it. Or pleading with him to give me a few days to straighten things out. He’d only come down himself, rather than call in the EAPF, because he knew that given the situation I’d found myself in–yet again–I would be more agreeable to his … proposal. “So, I guess you need to run me in? Turn me over to the authorities for breaking my parole?” It’s what he was supposed to do. We both knew he had something else in mind.

  “Hey, no need to get so pessimistic. Get in, Kay-Baby. We can discuss this back at my office.”

  Twenty minutes later, I lay on my back staring out the window above my head at the beautiful blue April sky. If I hadn’t found myself evicted, I would probably be sitting on one of the stone benches in Queen’s Park, sipping on a latte and looking through the paper for a new job. Instead, I waited patiently for the pot-bellied parole officer to finish his clumsy pounding and get off me.

  “Oh Yeah. Mmmm. You like that, you dirty girl?”

  With my head tilted away from him, he couldn’t see me roll my eyes. Did guys really think girls find that crap sexy? In comparison, though, the cheesy porn banter was a million times more erotic than the actual deed being performed. Frederick possessed the same enhanced durability I enjoyed, with the same side-effect. The first time I’d let him screw me, he joked afterwards that it’d been nice to not have to worry about squishing someone.

  “I have to take it easy with normal chicks, you know? Make sure they stay on top. Otherwise I’d mash them into a puddle. Which sucks sometimes. Sometimes a man needs to get in and be the driver, you know?”

  Every time he slid inside me, he put an extra lunge in his hips, slamming as hard as he could into my pelvis. Without super strength, his haphazard strokes were only as powerful as those of an ordinary, middle-aged man. Even if he could bang me harder, my invulnerability protected me all over. Even down there.

  Too bad about the lack of skill, though. At least then he might hit the good parts well enough to bring me some semblance of pleasure from our little “discussion”.

  “Oh, baby. You’re such a hot little piece of ass, I’m about to blow.”

  Another eye roll. “Do me, baby. Do me hard.” Experience with the schmuck had taught me that pretending to be turned on and throw in some dirty talk would get this ride over with faster. “Give it to me now.”

  His clumsy thrusts doubled in speed and I flexed my lower muscles to tighten around his dong and push him over the edge. He gave a loud grunt and arched his back so much that I hoped it would snap his spine and put him out of my misery. He thrusts slowed and stopped and he collapsed on me, making the dura-steel frame of the bed beneath us groan. His breath came in ragged gasps and he swallowed a few times before speaking.

  “That was incredible, babe. Just like always.”

  I drew in a deep breath and made a show of shuddering with my entire body. I released the air with a loud sigh. “You’re the best, Freddie. You really know your way around a girl’s body.”

  He lifted his head and looked at me with that slimy grin. “I aim to please.” He reached out and pinched one of my nipples with a twist. “That felt real good, you know?”

  The only thing I’d felt was disgusted. But I put on a big, goofy smile and nodded. “It was incredible.” I forced myself to trace my fingers over his hairy back. “So, I guess this means you’ll give me a few days to find a new job and home before sending me back to prison?”

  He laughed and rolled off me, the bed rising a few inches when he did. “If you need a little time to get back on your feet, that’s perfectly cool. You’re just trying to get along, sweet cheeks. It’s not your fault some people don’t want former super-criminals around.” He placed his hands on his hips and I deliberately avoided looking at his shrinking manhood. “How about this? If you haven’t a job and a place to live by next Monday, we’ll get together to discuss it again. Deal?”

  He waggled his eyebrows and I came really close to grabbing the clock-radio off the nightstand and throwing it through his flabby stomach. Instead, I winked and nodded. Great, I had five days to get things sorted out or I was going to be back in this bed with a jackass who had no skills and a little dick. “It’s a deal, Freddie.”

  He grinned and turned to walk towards the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower. I’ve got another case to check-in on this afternoon. Just let yourself out.” Then he vanished into the other room and closed the door behind him. I lay there in the sticky and stained sheets until I heard the water running before I got out of bed.

  I really needed a shower, too. Especially after that less-than-enjoyable romp in the sack. I wasn’t sure which was worse, having unsatisfying sex with another invulnerable or great sex where the guy might end up dead. I probably should have joined a convent or something upon being released from the ‘Max.

  I wasn’t about to get into the bath with Mr. Sleazy, so I settled for using a mostly clean corner of the sheet to wipe as much of him as I could from between my legs and got dressed. I slipped a cotton hoodie on over the yoga pants and sports bra before hefting the duffle bag on my shoulder and heading for the door. If worse came to worse, I’d just snap the nozzle off a fire hydrant and bathe that way.

  I walked six blocks to the nearest bus stop and stood with another group of people waiting for public transit. A couple of teenage boys dressed in identical fast-food chain work uniforms sat on one of the benches. Even though they were probably together, each ignored the other in favor of watching some video or another on the phones in their hands.

  On the other bench was a little old Asian lady who was probably about the same age as my former landlady but looked a lot friendlier. She gave me a sideways glance and I prepared myself for another ‘eek, it’s Crushette!’ confrontation. However, she patted the empty spot next to her and smiled. “Koko ni suwatte iru.” You can sit here.

  I blinked a few times and then nodded, accepting her invitation. The only physical trait hinting at my Japanese ancestry was my eyes and usually people didn’t even notice them. “Domo arigato,” I said as I lowered myself carefully on the thick wooden slats. They creaked under my weight and when they didn’t break, I released the breath I’d been holding.

  The grandmotherly lady watched me with a tiny wry smile and when she saw the relaxed expression form on my face, she reached out with a delicate hand and patted me on the knee. “Tsuyoi mokuzai.” Strong wood. Then she laughed.

  The woman’s amusement was contagious and I found myself with a genuine smile for the first time since Mrs. Rogers pounded on my door. I ran my fingers over the rough strap of my bag and leaned forward and looked down the empty street in that impatient way people waiting for a ride do. The lady gave my knee a squeeze and when I looked at her, she nodded eagerly.

  “Soon bus come,” she said.

  I returned the n
od and then looked up when I heard the muffled sound of distant thunder. The sky was still a beautiful shade of blue and contained only a few nearly-translucent clouds that hung motionless overhead. I had just brought my gaze back down when the boom sounded again, this time closer. I’d been mistaken the first time. That wasn’t thunder.

  I stood up and slipped the duffle off my shoulder and put it down on the ground beside the bench. The teens, with their earbuds filling their heads with whatever sounds were coming from their devices, didn’t pay me any attention. The grandmother, however, watched me with wide eyes.”

  “Toraburu?”

  “Yes, trouble.” I nodded and looked in the direction from which the sound had come. Another loud clap told me that it was getting closer by the second. I’d been in enough battles to know the sound of enhanced strength hitting enhanced flesh and if I got mixed up in some stupid gang fight–even accidentally–I was going to go back to prison.

  The smart thing would be for me to pick up my bag and just walk away. I could take off running and be a mile or two away before the scuffle reached the bus stop. I glanced back to the friendly lady and saw a trace of worry. I doubted if she would even be able to cross the street before the fight was on top of her. She sure as hell wouldn’t survive it.

  I was going to have to take her with me. I just hoped she wouldn’t have a heart attack or anything along the way. “Sobo,” I said using ‘grandmother’ in a respectful tone, “I am going to have to carry you someplace safe. Rikai suru?” Understand?

  She looked around, fear still riding high on her wrinkled face, and then looked at me and nodded. “Hai.”

  I smiled and bent down to gather her gently into my arms. Looking over her shoulder, I saw a yellow sedan sail over the top of the building behind us. Flames licked at the undercarriage and its trajectory brought it down fifty feet away. I spun around with the old woman cradled against my chest and kicked the bench with the boys on it. They both squawked with surprise as their seat flipped up into the air and dropped them behind the concrete wall of the bus stop.