Big Book of Science by P.O Wellingham, Nikola Tesla and You by Nye Williams, Wilderness Survival Guide by Buck Gunn were amongst the most frequented works in my collection. Of course I also had some textbooks I stole from various universities on electronics and engineering. Every single one was a lovely and invigorating read in its own way. Chief lent me some of his own literature too, although he’s more interested in philosophy and politics. I tried reading one, forgot its title but it was from a guy called Huey P. something like that. It made me think, but I didn’t see how it could help us. I guess different time periods had different issues.
I pulled out the golden journal, and read the cover title scribbled in black marker:
Superhero Analysis! by Walter
On the cover was also the same rat symbol that the buckle of my gun belt was shaped after, only it was in marker and it was crudely drawn by ten year old Walter, nowhere near the sleeker design I currently used but still familiar.
My eyes stung a bit looking at the old golden journal, it was such a small thing yet in my hand it felt heavy. I cleared my throat as if to give a speech only to not utter a word, flipping through each page.
Each set of pages was dedicated to one hero or another. I detailed their strengths, weaknesses, the different powers they had. I even included fun facts that were either not so fun or completely made up by me to make them seem more interesting. And the sketches for each of them left much to be desired, but I couldn’t help but smile as I kept reading.
I came across Godspeed's entry. It was lackluster for sure, although most people would have fared the same. I drew an angel alright, but the sword was just a thin cross, his outfit is supposedly reminiscent of a civil war general’s uniform but all black but young Walter must not have had any black crayons so he used coal or dirt instead.
His powers were flight, super speed, super strength, invincibility to all forms of damage, feathers that were as hard as tungsten and as light as, well, feathers. He could command the feathers to move however he wanted them to, and his sword was much the same. Some people theorized he could do a lot more than that, resurrection, exorcism, power sharing, and even construct buildings where all were debated. But I believed some of those theories are, as Andre would put it, ‘a load of bunk’.
I wrote down that he disappeared around sixty years ago. The few who knew him closely claimed that he woke up one day and vanished into the Appalachian mountains without saying a word. His sword was left in a courthouse in New Geweld. Since the sword hasn’t been called by him people assumed he died, which left many folks (especially Superheroes) to believe that whoever was strong enough to pull the sword out of its resting place would become Godspeed's herald, taking his place as the defender of America.
I wondered if he would ever come back or if it was true that he died.
How does someone like that die?
Then I found a page titled: RatKing and I slapped the old journal shut.
I should have thrown it away years ago and at that moment I wanted Pharrel to burn it if he hadn’t blacked out yet.
A knock snapped me back to reality as I swiftly turned around to see Claudia standing by the door with an unimpressed look on her painted face.
Claudia was a woman of middle age, being slightly taller than I was and the top hat she always wore made her look even taller. She was of a darker complexion, with purple locs draped along her shoulders. Her face was colored to appear like a white skull with the spinal bones going down her neck. She was wearing a dandy jacket and a collared shirt with a purple bow tie and stylistically torn pants.
She was smirking, “Huh, looks like you don’t need this.” she said as she shook the newly brewed tonic in her hand. “Big strong man like you doesn’t need help.”
I shook my head, “It ain’t like that, Claudia.” I wanted to say more but a sudden feeling of pain caught me on my side.
I held the spot that hurt the most as she walked towards me, uncorking the glass vial allowing for the visible vapors of the sizzling liquid to escape.
Even though I was hurting, Claudia still found it appropriate to tease me, “Right, you're grown for some things and a kid for others?”
She passed me the tonic as I downed it in one shot, the spiciness of the bitter liquid left a lingering sensation in my mouth and throat. Not pleasant, but cauca could do wonders.
“Don’t be surprised… I’m barely twenty two! If you were nicer then maybe I’d listen to you every once in a while.”
She laughed and smiled brightly, “Well maybe I like bullying children!”
From outside my cabin, the sound of a wild rumpus trickled through the opened door. In my mind I imagined what sort of trouble they all got into to require such cheer. I hadn’t robbed a train before, and I figured it had its own set of complications and nuances. Being side by side with Andre, Pharrel, and Ina was like a rollercoaster, although I had never been on one. There was no fear of death or injury… only the fear of not having enough pockets for all the dollar bills we would claim for ourselves. Maybe being a non-quasi made it more exciting, allegedly there's more to lose.
I opened up my wardrobe and pulled out my black coat and put it on. No shirt tonight for it was a party!
I looked at the broken down prosthetic hanging out of the chest and opted to leave it there. You don’t need two hands to have fun.
Feeling invigorated and tired of being cooped up like a sick calf I walked past Claudia. I was ready to join my fellow gang mates, but of course the doctor wasn’t having it. She stopped me, getting in my way and blocking the exit.
“What?!” I asked unhappily.
“You still need rest. My potions are effective, but you are still flesh and blood. Sit your ass back down.”
“I could sit my ‘ass’ by the bonfire, Doc?” I sported a toothy grin in rebuttal.
Claudia was our doctor, and a personal mentor of mine, and I respected her greatly. But she had the same problem as Andre. I tried to laugh it off growing up and I still did in the hopes that they finally understood that I’m not made of glass. They were wise to it, which is why they can be extra hard on me.
Claudia folded her arms over her chest and looked down on me, “That rabbit girl almost killed you, boy.”
Power-Jack was an outlier in the plan, and if she was your typical Superhero then yes, Claudia was right she would have tried to kill me. If things were a little different, I would have died the second she laid eyes on me. That thought didn’t bother me, at least I didn’t think about it, so I responded to her concerns sternly, “Look, the plan worked, we got the money, the gold, and the cauca that was inside the vault. No one got killed, and those who did had it comin’! I got hurt, but I will not stay inside forever. I have the right to talk to other people, you know?”
“Watch that tone, mister.” she said authoritatively.
Who was worse to talk to: Andre or Claudia? I could write a fifty page essay on the matter and I still wouldn’t have enough for a conclusion paragraph!
I sighed, “I’m not trying to be disrespectful, Claudia. I just want to spend some time with the gang.”
After a moment of contemplation and with no help from how much fun you could hear everyone else was having, she conceded and let me pass. I practically sprinted out the door, cool air hitting me in the face as my bare feet slid across the dirt. In that moment I wished I did put on something underneath, and I was going to go back in for such a reason. That was until I heard a high pitched voice slur out, “There he is! The finest gunslinger in the east, ReyRata!”
A deeper yet equally joyous voice followed and said, “Where you’ve been Walt? Come on, the fire’s extra hot tonight!”
I made my way to the festivities and to the voices that called out to me: Inamorata and Pharrel, respectively.
Pharrel was doing his thing, flaming hot orange and red streams of fire shot out of his fingertips into the giant pile of wood in the middle of the old campsite. Ina was floating in the air, doing… I wasn’t sure… dancing? She was having fun. Andre was sitting on the ground singing along quite happily with Henry on his drums and Khan on his fiddle.
“Tengo el alma destrozado
Tengo el corazón partido
No me llega el olvido
Para dejar de llorar”
They were singing without a care until he laid eyes on me, and of course his gaze was disapproving. Before he got up to lecture me, I sang along too.
“Tanto amor que yo te he dado
Tanto amor y todo en vano
Por tu culpa me emborracho
Es tu culpa este dolor”
“Oh come on Andre, let the kid live a little, he almost died after all!” said Henry. He was an elderly man, with a gray beard, a large round nose and pink-reddish skin. He wore a dirty white shirt that stuck out due to his humble beer gut with stained blue jeans, and a wide brimmed hat that covered his balding head. He smiled at me with moonshine-stained teeth.
The other man, Khan, was slightly older than me, he too had a beard but his hair was a dark brown and on his head was a short crewcut. He was shirtless besides the bright red and black harness he wore with thick black military boots.
Khan put his fiddle down, and raised a bottle of Kentucky bourbon, and proclaimed as he slung his burly arms around me, “Give Walter a drink goddammit! This boy… he's a killer… ha ha! A real… KILLER!”
That word didn't sit well with me. It felt strange being associated with it, even though it was the truth. I knew Andre was going to call Khan an idiot or something like that so I took a swig of the drink in his hand and kept on singing.
“Amigos traigan cerveza
Quiero tomar para olvidar
Amigos traigan cerveza
Quiero matar este dolor”
The fire was indeed warm.
And it got even warmer with whiskey in the system!
Truth be told, I hated drinking, I hated drugs in general. You aren’t yourself when you do that stuff. And if I want to do any of my work, I had to be myself, it's the only way to make it happen. Claudia taught me that.
But a good time is hard to turn down.
Ina managed to convince me to dance with her floating above the ground. It didn’t last long since she fell on top of me, almost knocking me on my behind and further punishing my body. Andre barked at us and we both got up giggling and danced normally.
Inamorata was a petite cat girl, although her face was still pretty human in form. She was covered from head to toe in orange fur with brown stripes, her eyes were blue and as sparkly as the western night sky. Usually she wore a wide-brimmed witches hat she found in an abandoned costume store with a leather quilted corset, her puffy cleavage on full display, and a mostly black skirt with white laces on the top and bottom.
She danced with fervor, light on her bare clawed feet, her tail and hips swaying to the beat. I matched her energy, bringing a controlled heat, hands on her waist, each step played a percussive compliment to the music.
“You really… ah… ah… mmm-we missed you today, Ratboy!” she yelled into my ear.
I yelled back in hers, “I missed you guys too! Andre and Claudia bother me, at least you guys aren’t as depressing.” her cat ears recoiled back, though she still laughed.
“Depressing?! Ok sure, ‘RatKing’. You only wear black.”
“Black is a threatening color. And besides, you’re one to talk.” I grinned.
From the corner of my vision, I see Isaiah, lurking far from us. He sat by himself, with a campfire of his own, cleaning his precious revolvers.
Suddenly Ina moved behind me as she rested her chin on my shoulder, “Um actually, black is a shade. Try again, genius!” she said, mimicking my accent.
I laughed off her pedantic argument despite the fact it did bother me that she was right. We danced for a few more songs, until she got tired and went to take a “small nap”. Curled up in a fetal position next to a log we all sat on like some kind of rock. And she stayed there for the rest of the night.
Pharrel bumped into me afterwards, bottle in his hand, spilling liquid happiness on my exposed feet. His skin was the shade of mocha, and his facial hair was well kept, although super powers and alcohol weren’t the best combination so his short hair had sparks of embers at the tips, and his earthly green poncho was ashen at the ends from years of use. His eyes were bloodshot as smoke sizzled out of his nose, and when he opened his mouth to speak the smell of bitter charcoal and sweet brandy graced me.
He involuntarily burped a fireball into my face, I dodged, and he apologized immediately.
“A little train robbery was enough to get you this lit?” I asked incredulously.
He coughed up more smoke as he attempted to laugh, “You're just jealous you couldn’t be there! It was a good take, not as good as your bank heist but not too dull. Anyways, how's it like being taken care of by mami y papi?”
Slinging my arm around his shoulders I told him, “I’m serious, man! Tell me all about it, give me details.”
“About Superheroes?” he asked with a sly grin.
I tripped over my words until I grumbled, “If you fought one then, yeah… spill the beans.”
“So you can put it in that little book of yours?” his grin turned into a wide obnoxious smile.
“Look… it's important you know.” I told him. Superheroes were the biggest threat to us, so knowing everything about them was key to survival. Yet even with that knowledge already in mind it still wasn’t enough for the drunken pyromancer.
“We didn’t fight no super powered merc. All just regular-degular humans with guns. But now that you mention it did you write a page for her?”
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