Author: Whimcycle
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Beginnings
A City of Heroes Whimcycle Story
By Whimcycle
“If you ladies had a pair, you could grow your own facial hair and we wouldn’t waste so much time gluing your disguises on!” Whimcycle wince, the R. Lee Ermey wannabe Hero Instructor had chosen to bellowed right into Whim’s left ear. Fortunately, his Vandyke was already in place and he could get away from the barrage of verbal encouragement being hurled at the other cadets.
Disguises were usually not needed nor wanted during regular training. The cadets did spent two days with an ex-CIA spook learning to apply and penetrate them. But since this would be the first time that the world would see them, those that wanted or needed to change their appearance were encouraged to do so.
Whimcycle move quickly without appearing to be in haste down the rows of bunk beds in the dorm. It was in actuality an old military barracks, but the academy insisted that it be called a dorm. The operators wished to avoid any appearance of being a government-run facility. It could house a hundred people but currently 57 occupied it. The rest had flunked, quit or been medically disqualified.
Hero Academy Inc. had purchase the army base after it failed to survive the last round of base closure. For a nominal tuition, which you could use government back student loans to pay, you would receive sufficient training to get your hero license. They would also act as a hero placement service.
Whimcycle returned to his bunk and stored his disguise kit into the bottom of his footlocker. He sealed it and thumbed the lock closed. Failure to properly secure one’s locker would result in extra laps in the exercise yard. The instructors thoughtfully pointed out who was responsible for each additional lap. Peer pressure from exhausted bunkies corrected offenders quicker than the instructors
“Sumner is in fine voice this morn.” Observed Hearthstone. Hearthstone was a Fire Blaster who slept on the bunk under Whimcycle. Born in Niger, his family was forced to leave his village when his powers erupted during puberty. He would have been stoned to death had officials not sent him to the United States for training.
Whimcycle sighed. “It’s too late to flunk us, we graduate this afternoon. I think he’s getting in a few last licks because he didn’t break us.” It was a wonder, thought Whimcycle an Illusion/Empathy Controller, that he was even standing here today. The pseudo military training he had endured had chafed him as badly as the cadet uniform did. Whimcycle found himself in almost constant conflict the instructors and their methods. He was not a team player, as the HI were fond of pointing out to any that cared to hear.
“Inshallah.” Hearthstone intoned, which is Arabic for God Willing. “But come, please be so kind as to inspect my uniform and I will do yours.
The academy uniform was a one-piece spandex jumpsuit that made Whimcycle’s skin crawl. Khaki in color, with dark brown shoulders and red reflective stripes down the sides, legs and arms. It sealed up the front to a high collar at the neck. Any and all body hair would find a way to peek out the seals, resulting in the inevitable extra time in the yard, so body waxing was the order of the day.
The pair inspected each other minutely. For ten weeks they had been put though grueling inspections and rigorous training that would break most men and women. Some cadets had broken, mentally and or physically. It was too close to the finish to let some minuscule imperfection disrupt their graduating in a couple of hours.
A few stragglers pelted from the latrine followed closely by the non-stop oral fusillade from HI Sumner. Whimcycle did admire the man’s command of the language. Sumner could spend an hour chewing the cadets out with out repeating his words or resorting to obscenities. He also had a knack for finding any hidden flaws a person might conceal and let the world know about them. Whim could have hated his guts, but preferred his bunkie’s point of view that there is a special place in hell reserved for their instructors.
Once everyone had reached the bunks, HI Sumner barked, “Fall in for inspection!” The cadets quickly and quietly stood beside their racks. They didn’t stand at attention; the academy didn’t wish them to appear to be military despite the very military like training they had received. Sumner and three Assistant HI briskly went down the line, inspecting each cadet like some kind of moldy meat that someone offered to sell them.
Satisfied, the HI put their heads together for a quick conference. Nodding sagely, Sumner walk the three assistants to the barracks door and watched them leave. He turned and sauntered to the middle of the room between rows of bunks. “My, don’t we all look lovely today?” He asked. “No, no a rhetorical question, academy rules state that everyone is lovely in their own way. So, you ladies look lovely everyday even without your idiotic grease paint and fur patches.” That was one of the things that annoyed Whim, there was no need to call a bunch of guys ladies anymore. Surviving ten weeks of hell should have gained them some measure of respect from the HI, but he was playing ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’ right to the end.
The HI braced himself on a bunk and step up onto a footlocker, which groaned under his weigh. He pulled his left leg up; it was an un-power prosthesis, a relic in this day of bionic replacements. Not that it in any impeded his ability to run down an errant cadet to chew them out. He looked up and down the ranks and yelled, ”Bring it in, people. I don’t want to yell what I have to say.”
The group rapidly formed a circle around the instructor. He waited until they had settle down and then much to their surprised, he sighed. “Alright, in an hour you are going to have your graduation. After you muff the fly-by, there’ll be a boring ceremony with tedious speeches by local officials invited by the academy to make them feel good about the base still being in use and bring money into the community tax base.”
Sumner shook his head and continued, “You will receive a diploma and most important to you, your Hero License card. This erroneously says to the world that you are sufficiently in control of your powers and will not destroy a city block when you arrest your first purse-snatcher.”
The cadets looked at each other, a feeling of unease replacing the joy that they had earlier of their impending graduation. Whimcycle raise his hand and ask, “Instructor Sumner, despite the fact that we have passed all the tests required by the academy and the licensing authority, you have reservations about letting us loose on an unsuspecting world?” Ordinarily a smart mouth question like this was good for an extra five miles in the yard.
The instructor glared at Whim and snapped back, “Do you really believe I or anyone could teach you in ten weeks time what you really need to know to be a hero or even survive in today’s world?”
Whimcycle snorted. “Only a fool would believe that and I am no fool. We have book learning and some time in the training simulators but no real experience. I may spend more time face down than my opponents, but I will be licensed and legal and that is all I care about.”
Sumner shook his head again. “Here’s to hoping wherever you are posted to has good property insurance. Well at least Whimcycle has a grip on the truth, I hope the rest of you do now. Once the ceremony is over and you’ve smoozed with your family and friends, come back here by 1530. Your street clothes and what bags you brought will be on your footlockers. At 1600, transportation will here to take you to your new assignments.”
The cadets stirred and murmur to each other. “Quiet down,” Sumner commanded. “Since most of you are being posted to Project Longbow, it will be quicker to announce who isn’t. Hearthstone, Flintfist, Archer Tango, Whimcycle and Dark Shield will meet me in the Rec room at 1530 and I will have your postings then. All right five minutes to mill about and talk about whatever then meet the instructors outside for the fly-by formation. And try not to screw it up too badly.”
The cadet erupted into chatter, congratulating and consoling each other. HI Sumner jumped down from footlocker and headed for the main door, the cadets moving out of his way and flowing back into the path he just left. Whimcycle looked at Hearthstone and shrugged. They turned and headed after the HI. The rest of the cadets slowly followed them like the tail of a comet.
HI Sumner was wrong about the fly-by. For once, everyone maintained their place while the instructors actually did the flying. In practice, usually two or three people managed to drift out of the instructor’s Group Fly power and smack into the ground. The speeches were deadly in their boredom and the sun made the spandex cadet uniform even more uncomfortable. After the ceremony, Whimcycle returned to the dorm. His family hadn’t come and he was not one to make friends, even before he got his powers of Illusion and Healing.
He open his bag and grabbed some clothes and a towel and headed for the showers. He peeled the cursed cadet uniform off and scrubbed down in the hot water. The Vandyke was water resistant, but it wasn’t rip resistant. He tore it off and flung it atop the uniform. When the itching finally subsided, he left the shower and toweled dry. The shirt and pants he put on were wrinkled and smell a bit like the storage room, musty. But they were 100% cotton and never felt so good. He tossed the cadet suit into the recycler. It would disassemble the suit’s molecules, remove anything that wasn’t part of the suit thus cleaning it. It was then reassemble and placed into a storage locker for the next user. The towel went into a laundry bin, but that was someone else’s problem now.
As 1530 approached Dark Shield and Flintfist played Ping-Pong while the others sat and watched. A familiar slapping sound approached the doors to the Rec room. Ten long weeks had keyed their ears to the approach of HI Sumner. The door open and a collective gasp were heard. No longer in his instructor whites, instead he stood before them in the torn costume of the Bladesman. Brown bloodstains still signed the wounds he had received in his final battle. The left leg of his tights was sheared knee high, as if sliced by a razor. His prosthesis shone, as did the shoe attached to it.
“Any questions?” Sumner nee Bladesman asked his voice cold as a winter’s morning. While the others glanced about looking at each other then anywhere save their instructor; Whimcycle kept his eyes locked on him. “What about you Whimcycle? I can hear those smart ass remarks just bubbling trying to escape.”
Whimcycle press his lips together, the corner of his mouth twitching. He had half expected this horror show; it fitted with the training course. Breathing deeply and releasing it slowly, he forced himself to relax. “Yeah, what is my assignment?” Whimcycle inquired with an even tone.
Sumner gave snort that broke into a chuckle before becoming a full gale laugh. Recovering his composure, he wagged a finger at Whim and declared, “You just won me 15 bucks, hero! The other instructors were sure you’d all be cowed at the sight of me, but I figure Whimcycle here had mapped out the program.”
“What do you mean, HI Sum… I mean Bladesman?” Asked Dark Shield.
“He means that the display of his wounds were meant to make us have second thoughts about being heroes.” Stated Whimcycle. Bladesman tapped his right index finger on his nose.
“That very thought was on my mind, it still resides there.” Confirmed Flintfist.
Whimcycle shrugged his shoulders. He said, “This is Psyche 101 stuff. I get the feeling that the Longbow people didn’t see you, though.”
Bladesman shook his head and said, “Grab a seat and listen closely, we don’t have much time left together.” The group pulled chairs together into a circle and Bladesman spoke.
“The folks that got assigned to Project Longbow are really good at working as a team, but stink on their own. They will fit in just fine in that quasi-military set up and make hero cannon fodder wherever they are sent. You five on the other hand are what we have been trying to glean from the hundred that started ten weeks ago. People that work best independently but can work in a team if needed. Selfless when require, having the backbone to stand up to perceived wrongs, the sheer pigheadedness to accomplish the job; all these qualities you have displayed and more. Which is why you got to see me dressed like this.” Bladesman waved his hands at his body and costume.
“Now, assignments!” Bladesman exclaimed. “Hearthstone, you are returning home to Niger. You family knows and awaits you at the airport. Flintfist, you are LA bound. The city needs its gang problem slapped down; you’re the one to do it. Dark Shield they need you in Saint Paul, mystics have been stirring trouble up there. You are headed to Northwest, Archer Tango. Seattle is being to fester from the same gang violence as LA. Snuff it out if you can. Whimcycle, your are headed to Paragon City, see if you can recycle some of those Clockwork critters.”
Bladesman looked up at the wall clock, “Damn, we are out of time. My congratulations heroes, you got ten minutes to get to your transportation.” The group murmured thanks and pushed out of their seats. He shook their hands and called as they were leaving, “There is a parting gift in your footlocker, don’t forget to take it.”
“Parting gift?” Hearthstone asked with a puzzled voice.
“Hummm, a going away present ring a bell?” Flintfist asked.
“Ah, of course. Parting gift! How nice.” Exclaimed Hearthstone. The others agreed as the moved to their bunks. Whimcycle moved his luggage off the footlocker and fingered the biolock open. The click of it opening was overshadowed by the whooping yell of Dark Shield. The others joined in yelps of delight.
Whimcycle smiled to himself, he now knew the nature of the parting gift. Opening the footlocker his nose was tickled by the scent of leather. Inside laid a yellow and blue bundle, bright red shoulder pads poking out from inside. Reaching in, he lifted it out and cradled it in his arms like a baby. It was his costume. He resisted the urge to open it. Instead he thrust it into one of his bags and slams the trunk shut, deliberately failing to lock it.
Grabbing his bags he walked past the row of bunks one last time, calling farewell to his fellow heroes. He didn’t open the package until he reached Paragon City. The smooth leathers fit perfectly, though the red shoulder pads did look a little gaudy. After getting instructions from his Atlas Park contact, he stumbled onto a purse snatching right in the parking lot of City Hall. One of the local thugs, a member of the Hellion gang made the snide remark upon seeing Whimcycle, “I smell Spandex!” To which Whimcycle responded with what now his famed battle cry, “Spandex! My leather clad buttocks!
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