Chapter 30: Chapter twenty-nine

Twelve years ago

 

The day came for Eleven and the others to choose a code name and a suit. For this, they were supplied with a staff of designers, engineers, and other support staff that would help them create the perfect suit for the business of being a superhero. There were also marketing consultants to ensure they chose an appropriately fearsome name and hero suit, but it was expected that all of the candidates knew enough about human psychology that this wouldn’t be necessary.

All four of the candidates were brought in together, the time for isolation and tests now passed, and took turns explaining what it is that they wanted from their hero persona while people asked questions and sketched out designs.

Four, a boy of middling height and unpredictable temperament, went first. He took the name Bodycount and designed a suit in brown and green, taking heavy inspiration from military uniforms but exaggerating everything to give the impression of a super-soldier. As far as Eleven was concerned, the name and design were mediocre. The impression given would be appropriately imposing when ‘Bodycount’ was there, but it wouldn’t strike fear into the hearts of criminals around the world.

Next up was Five, and Eleven felt a distant pang of longing as she began presenting her designs. It had only been a few days since their relationship had ended, and he could feel a number of unpleasant feelings just at the edge of his perception. It was at times like this that he was most glad he didn’t experience emotions the same way others did. Though, of course, this meant it was a distant gladness too.

Five chose the name Dusk and designed a suit of dark grey that would blend into the night. The suit had a night-vision eyepiece that glowed faintly green and no other facial features. It gave the Dusk suit the feel of some terrible robot, come to kill everything human. Five had a lot of thoughts on a custom sniper rifle as well, stylized to fit with her suit and with scope options that allowed for far greater magnification than most snipers would have any use for. The engineers were initially a little sceptical of this, but Five could shoot the wings off a fly, and if she said she needed twice the maximum zoom of a top-model sniper rifle, it was because she was at least twice the shot of a top sniper. The design and signature weapon came together to create a persona that could strike from the shadows, taking out targets without anyone ever knowing they were there. That would add a layer of fear—terrorists and warlords wouldn’t ever truly feel safe if Dusk could have them in her sights at any time without them knowing it—but it had disadvantages too. The candidates were to be superheroes, not assassins, and part of their role was to create a culture where people expected crime to be swiftly punished. That would be harder to do for a hero that never went anywhere near their target.

Eleven should have been up next, but Twelve shouldered past him and took his spot. No one cared enough about the order to say anything, especially not to Twelve. He was a psychopath in the truest sense of the word, feeling no empathy for others at all. Not that Eleven was in much of a position to criticise in that regard, his own empathy was so ephemeral that many might think it may as well not exist at all. Twelve liked to think of himself as a rival to Eleven—though it had been years since Twelve would have stood anything like a chance in a direct confrontation between the two—and he took every chance he could get to one-up the other boy. In this case though, Eleven was happy to let Twelve go first, as going last would ensure the other boy couldn’t take any of Eleven’s suit ideas for his own.

Twelve set about designing his hero suit as he did everything, in a commanding and thoroughly unsubtle way. He chose the name Reaper because, he claimed, there was nothing more terrifying than death itself, and designed a suit of black with a white skull-like mask and two stylized swords that could stop a bullet cold or cut through solid rock without dulling. He named the blades Death and Mourning. It was, Eleven thought, all a bit on the nose. Twelve, or Reaper as he was to be called, was under the mistaken impression that death is the greatest fear in the heart of humanity. Twelve had never had much of an understanding of human psychology. Perhaps because he lacked a big part of it himself.

Eleven, for all his own strange psychology, understood people, and understood what they feared. When it came his turn to create a suit, he designed one that would prey on people’s greatest fear: the unknown. He would be the faceless terror that they could do nothing against. He would tell his targets he was coming, let them run or hide or defend themselves as best they could, and then take them down anyway, showing the world that the only way to be safe was not to prey on the innocent in the first place. He made his suit blacker than pitch, as black as a starless sky, with a long cape and a hood. He had the engineers design a white faceplate that would cover his head completely and that would be completely opaque from the outside, while still showing him everything from the inside. That mask was the most complicated and expensive bit of equipment designed that day, especially since he insisted it be remarkably thin but still provide reasonable protection from stray bullets. But it was entirely worth it in Eleven’s mind. Twelve muttered something about Eleven copying his design, because both their suits were black and their masks were white, but Eleven understood that their designs could scarcely have been more different. While the ‘Reaper’ suit was all flash, his was far more subtle. While Twelve’s suit would scare those who saw it at the time, Eleven’s would stay with them forever, waking them in the night with visions of the implacable, faceless thing.

“What would you like your name to be?” a man from the marketing team asked.

Eleven had given this some thought too. He had briefly considered not choosing a name at all, but discarded this when he realized that the media would soon choose one for him anyway. What he needed was a name that suggested something worse than death was coming, that would be spoken among the criminal underworld in hushed tones while taking furtive glances around the room, as though the act of saying his name would draw him down upon them. He had given it a lot of thought, and finally come to a decision.

“My name,” he said, “is Oblivion."

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