Chapter 32: Chapter thirty-one

Present day

 

Liz was watching the news when the man entered the apartment with more groceries, another bag of clothes, and even some makeup. Liz didn’t like having to be cooped up in that apartment, but she had to admit that what the man was doing was making her feel more at home than she thought she could while hiding from people who wanted to kill her.

“Have you heard about this?” she said, indicating the television. “Reaper is being arrested and there’s a new superhero.”

The man nodded. “I just heard. Smythe is rebranding. Not surprising given public opinion of superheroes has been souring somewhat for the past few years, but the timing is suspicious. Could be connected to your abduction.”

“Are you sure? The people who kidnapped me didn’t seem like the turn-themselves-in type.”

Another nod. “Neither is Reaper. He will be sprung by Program agents posing as terrorists or something within a day or two. Either they’ll fake his death and he’ll disappear or he’ll kill the ‘terrorists’ and use the attack as an excuse to stay out of police custody for their own safety. Probably the latter given Reaper’s ego.”

It was strange to hear the man talk about Reaper in that way, given his legendary status. It was like hearing a friend of Einstein’s describing his breakfast preferences. But, given the man’s own legendary past, she supposed he was entitled.

The man finished putting the groceries away and moved to leave.

“Ah,” Liz said, stopping him in his tracks. “Would you sit with me, just for a while. I don’t have anyone to talk to and I’m going stir-crazy.”

“Of course,” he said, sitting down on an armchair just to the side of Liz on the couch. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

There wasn’t, Liz just liked having the man around. She found he had a calming effect on her, as though even the memories of her abductors were afraid of him.

Liz had once read a study that suggested that handling money made one less anxious and care less what others thought of them. This seemed to her to make a lot of sense, as money represents power, and being powerful, evolutionarily speaking, means you don’t have to rely on others as much. If it was the power represented by money that made people calmer and more secure, then that might go some way to explaining why this man had such a calming effect on Liz. Whatever else he was, the man was powerful.

She didn’t voice any of this to him of course. That would have been more than a little embarrassing. Instead she asked him what it was like to be a superhero.

“It was good to have a purpose,” he replied simply.

“And you didn’t get scared?” The question sounded ridiculous to her the moment it was out of her mouth, like asking a volcano if it ever gets shy.

The man shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve never really felt things the way others do.”

Alexithymia perhaps? Liz wondered. If he couldn’t identify emotions that might explain a lot. But that didn’t tend to lead to calm detachment, it tended to lead to outbursts of misunderstood feelings. Something else then.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” she asked.

“Bearing in mind that I have only had my own experience,” the man said, “it seems that for others their emotions are integral to their experience, entangled with their cognition and as real as life. For me, emotions are more like a faintly remembered tune, hovering at the periphery of my mind, able to be examined and understood, but only with conscious effort, and easily ignored.”

Fascinating.

“I’ve never heard of anyone who experienced emotions like that before.”

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“Neither have I. I am, so far as I know, unique in that regard.”

“Is that what made you such a good superhero?”

“In part, though probably not in the way you are thinking. The Program taught complicated mental techniques that require segmenting one’s mind. Mine was already segmented to begin with, so I had a knack for it. Also, I have a unique talent for close combat.”

Is it really unique? She wondered. There were other superheroes after all. Then again, this man seemed to choose his words very carefully. Perhaps he meant exactly what he said.

“Better than the other heroes?” she asked, testing her theory.

“Not in all things,” he said. “Dusk could shoot the wings off a fly. Literally. I’ve seen her do it. And Bodycount has a knack for mixing explosives. But in close combat, yes. I am unmatched.”

 Liz gave a little laugh at the surrealness of the conversation she was having. “I feel like I am about to ask who would win in a fight between two superheroes. I never really thought of myself as that kind of nerd before.”

“Depending on how my investigation goes, you may get an answer to that question soon enough.”

That was a sobering thought, though it was quickly chased out by a more interesting one.

“If your emotions don’t matter to you, why did you quit?”

“I wanted to be a hero,” the man said simply. “I realized I couldn’t be one while working for the Program.”

Fascinating. This man seemed to have desires, even moral desires, that were unconnected to emotion. Anyone from the philosophy department at Liz’s university would give their right arm to talk to him.

“How’s your investigation into them going?” she asked, wondering when she might be able to get back to some semblance of a normal life.

He made a gesture that could have been a shrug, though it looked too precise and measured to really warrant the name. “It looks as though they are investing in kinetic bombardment weapons, but that doesn’t really explain what they want with your tech. There’s something I’m missing.”

Kinetic bombardment?” Liz asked. “Like, a big space gun? Isn’t that a little, ah, terrifying?

The man seemed to consider that for a moment. “I suppose it depends on whether they come online or not.”

Liz’s mind raced with questions, but the one she went for was “How are you going to stop them?”

The man explained the need for targeting software and about the Night Market account.

“I’m going to see someone who will know the where and when later tonight.”

“A friend of yours?” she asked.

“No. Not a friend.”

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