Post by jackalope on Dec 10, 2012 0:15:01 GMT -5
Ultimate Ex Machina #2: Mitch in the Box
November, 2012
Zee Hernandez, her pale dreads hanging limply on her dark freckled skin, looks down at her boyfriend, huddled face-down on the mattress, which lay on the floor of his shoe-box apartment. She runs her fingers through his scruffy dark hair, listening to his breathing. She reaches across his body and grabs the remote. The TV, precariously sitting on a half a dozen bricks, flicks on. She changes the channel a couple of times and adjusts the volume. She nudges her half-snoring partner.
“Hey. Look who's on.”
Without lifting his head from the pillow, Matthew Roth manages a muffled groan, “Whooo?”
“Your boyfriend. And he's on fire.”
With exaggerated effort Matt rolls over, taking the opening to snuggle his head into her chest. “Put on some cartoons or somethin.. I'm sick of all this election shit.”
“No Matty,” Zee frowns, shaking her head. “You have to stop ignoring this.” He looks up at her, hearing her change of voice. “This stuff matters.. well, you used to think so.”
“This-,” he waves at the TV, “is all posturing and bullshit, over-hyped and under-informed.” Sitting up, he slips the remote from her hand and drops it on the bed. He touches her neck and brings his lips to hers. She smiles. He pulls off his shirt. “This stuff matters.”
* * *
“With election day looming, the candidates are making their last dash efforts to secure any extra votes by visiting neighborhoods in areas that carry sway. Senator Alice Fleming, current second favourite in the running for the Metropolis Mayoralty is stopping by Southside where she is shoring up support. Noticeably absent is the front runner Mayor Hundred, who is currently preparing to be put in an isolation unit, designed and monitored by STAR laboratories, to assure none of his speculated powers can influence tomorrow’s election.”
“I hate it when they call her the second favourite, makes her sound like the underdog. Everyone likes an underdog,” Mitchell Hundred calls from the toilet, over the noise of the television. “Hell, I like an underdog,” he murmurs to himself.
“Look, don't worry yourself, stress ain't good for bowel movements, and I don't imagine you want to go while you're stuck in the box.” Dave Wylie, Deputy Mayor, takes a bite from his bagel whilst watching the unfolding coverage. “You're on again.”
The T.V. shows the mayor, neatly brushed brown hair blowing in the cold fall wind. As he approaches the podium the crowd cheers. He waits before lifting his hand. “Six years ago Metropolis was attacked by outside forces in an invasion the likes of America had never seen. We all remember where we were that day. I remember.” The crowd is silent. The familiar. shaky captured footage from that day plays in clips. Buildings burning. A huge bulbous ship hovers over the city, long metallic tendrils reaching into the buildings below.
“Four years ago, I promised you that I would rebuild this city, and you voted for me. Today I stand before you, a man who has kept his promise. A man, not a hero. Before I was the Great Machine, I was an Engineer. After the Brainiac disaster, I realised that I could do more help as a cog in the machine rather than as the Great Machine.” Applause from the crowd. “The election coming is a momentous one. As citizens, you get to have your say on both a national level and as local one. All I ask is that you exercise this right. Whether you vote for me or for one of my opponents, please just vote. My name is Mitchell Hundred, and I believe in the city of tomorrow.”
A flush is followed by Mitchell exiting the bathroom. “How'd it look?”
“Like a Mayor who's going to be re-elected.”
“But mentioning the whole Great Machine thing- it's not too...”
“It's perfect, just like you were advised. You reminded them who you were, and told them that you were no longer a hero. You haven't used your powers in public since you got elected. It's the right move, like P.R. said, the powers make people nervous. You're their mayor. A man, not a superman.”
“Good.” Mitchell nods, reassured. Putting his suit jacket on, he walks to the door. “Let’s get going.”
Dave Wylie pushes himself up and brushes down his jacket, then follows him to the door.
“TV OFF.”
*
With the police escort ahead, the car black car pulls up to the STAR Laboratories Metropolis building. Bradbury opens the door for the Mayor and Deputy to walk out through the crowd of journalists and fans, all angling for a final word. Police keep the path clear. Before reaching the door, Mayor Hundred turns and waves to the crowd. Someone is holding up a sign, 'Bring Back The Great Machine.' A wave of noise passes by and he walks into the huge entrance area of the building.
A pleasant looking Asian woman greets them at the door. “This way Mr Mayor.”
“See she's still calling you that.” Dave nudges Mitchell, as they keep pace. “Did you see this?” He hands Hundred a copy of Newstime magazine, the presidential candidates' face on the cover. “Page 12.”
He flicks open to a double page spread, showing a picture of him speaking with a crowd of people in a restaurant, shaking hands and smiling. “The People's Machine,” Mitchell reads. “Looks OK.”
“OK?” Wylie laughs, “I think she's in love with you. She basically calls you the greatest mayor Metropolis has ever had. Maybe the world.” He takes the magazine back off him. “You should think about asking her out.”
Mitchell rolls his eyes.
“Through here,” the guide calls.
“Welcome to STAR Labs, Mayor Hundred.” A large man, wearing a white lab coat, shakes the Mayor's hand.
“Dr Stuart...” he replies, gazing at the large metal tube that lay horizontally in the centre of the room, huge pipes coming out from either end. “This looks ominous.”
“Ha-ha, I can assure you it's safe. You'll be monitored for the entire 24 hours by a team of doctors and specialists.” Another lab coat wearing person wheels up a tray of strange-looking technological devices. The scientist picks up a loop and places it on the Mayor's head.
“What...”
“Multi-spectrum dampener. It should limit your capabilities until we can get you under and in the tank.” His jacket is taken and sleeve rolled up. As he is seated into a wheelchair, a needle is inserted into his arm.”Now what we're giving you is perfectly safe, but patients do report quite vivid dreams.”
“Great,” Hundred mutters. He touches the device on his head. “It's quiet, so strange.” His bodyguard and Deputy hide their concern, as Mitchell looks back with raised eyebrows. “OK, well, I guess you're in charge while I'm gone. Make sure not to burn down the city and no parties in city hall while I'm away.”
“I promise we'll hold out until you're awake and re-elected...”
Mitchell smiles and is led towards the machine.
* *
Where am I?
“Where is it?”
The dry hot wind sweeps through the dunes kicking up sand and dust. Mitchell covers his eyes with his hands and pulls down his goggles. The wind dies down again and he can finally look at the marine, who stands tall and unimpressed.
I'm in Afghanistan.
The marine points his thumb out towards the rocky area behind him. “About half a click that way. Normally we wouldn't ask for an army boy to have a look at it, but our Seabees are busy blowing up bombs in about eight other areas, and shit, you're around.”
“What are we talking about?” Mitchell looks out over the brown hills, then back to the blond marine, “...sir?”
Bradbury.
“Shit, that's why I got you out here...” Pulling on his pack he turns and started towards the hills. “You coming?” Mitchell checks his pistol, grabs his pack and tools, then slams the Humvee door. He starts following the marine out.
The heat is killer. It's midday and the sun is directly overhead. Mitchell keeps a wary eye out for any glint of metal in the distance.
This is where it began.
What began?
This.
The rush of air rippling against his chin. No one tells you how cold it is when you fly. Fly! He laughs. “Kremlin, you getting this? It works! It fucking works!” The rocket on his back launches him over the Metropolis skyline.
“Good Hundred, but don't get carried away. This is only the test run. You'll need a lot more practice before you become a super hero..”
“Hero?” In the distance he can see something in the distance. “Hang on.” A faint glow in the night sky. Fire. In the Queen hotel. A huge white building, and right near the top, fire laps from a broken window. It will take them forever to get up here. He can hear the fire trucks below, the sirens, the hotel's alarm, the lights and electricity and televisions and cameras and... He shakes his head. Focus.
“FASTER.” His racket pack bursts with a jolt of speed, sending his crashing through the window. It's hot. Unbearably so. Smoke covers the roof. “Hello?” Why aren't the sprinklers working? “HELLO?” He coughs. He can barely see anything. “ESTINGUISHERS ON.” A fire extinguisher erupts in the hallway. Shit. Shit. Moving through, he can see a woman lying unmoving on a couch. He grabs her arm and drags her to the window, then holds her waist. He leaps.
He falls.
“FLY”
He can feel gravity building. The sickening speed of the approaching pavement.
“FLY!”
“FLY”
The parrot takes to the sky and perches on a tree above the large suburban house. The cloaked man gets out of the furniture removal van and walks up to the door. Pulling on a blue cap he knocks on the door. After a moment the door opens. An old lady stands, looking expectantly at him.
“Yes?” Her wrinkled hands are covered with gold diamond rings, and a pearl necklace hangs from her chicken skin neck. The tilt of her chin says it all. Old money. If she is answering the door it's probably mostly run out. He can hear the cockroaches and mice scuttering through the abandoned rooms. Between the jewelery and the house, it's all she's likely to have.
Pherson?
“Is your husband in?” She shakes her head, with a sudden glint of fear in her slightly clouded eyes.
He nods, smiling. He only needs the house.
He's in the sky again. Flying, but this time he's not smiling. He can feel the rumble. He turns to see the craft hovering above the city. His city. He increases speed.
No no no!
The bulbous space craft is firing some sort of heat weapons, creating fires all around the city. Metallic tendrils extend out flipping police cars and swatting jets from the sky. So much destruction. It will take years to rebuild. He grits he teeth.
No stop! You didn't have to do this.
He can stop this. Rocketing over New Troy he lifts his black gloved hand extends towards the alien invader, and commands. "STOP!"
click
Clockwork Angels dance on a pinhead.
WAKE
* *
He opens his eyes.
“Hey kiddo.”
He sits up and looks around the room. Amongst the doctors, Dave Wylie is there, grinning like a fool. Mitchell frowns, still confused by the dreams that were starting to fade. A doctor looks over his charts, as a nurse removes the drip from his arm. He starts to remember where he is.
“All looks good, Mr Hundred.” The doctor nods to the nurse and other medical staff to leave. “Your legs might feel a little tingly but you should be good to go in a few minutes.” He carries the clipboard to the door. “Oh and congratulations.”
“Why are you so happy?” Mitchell asks to his smugly smiling Deputy.
“I'm just happy Jeanette O'Neil is still President, America's first woman President, they said it wouldn't happen.”
Hundred pushes himself up. “So I suppose you still have a job?”
“Yes Mr Mayor, we do.”
* * *
The celebrations last well into the night. In Bessolo Boulevard the party is in full swing. He shakes hands with senators and celebrities, and manages to get a moment to call the President for mutual congratulations. He shakes hands with Wylie, as well as his wife and daughter. He walks to the podium and lifts his hands.
“I just wanted to thank everyone who believed in me and got out there and voted.” Cheers ripple across him. “You did this, and I'm going to do my best to make sure I fulfil every promise I made.” He waits, grinning with the infectious joy. “I've personally just passed on my congratulations to President O'Neil on her successful re-election. I want to thank my Deputy Dave Wylie on his tireless commitment to his office, on all of his support as Deputy Mayor and as a friend. There's just one more thing I'd like to say to tonight. I believe in the city of tomorrow!”
* * *
Mitchell looks out into the cool night sky. Around him the city celebrates, he hears the traffic dancing, the street lights singing, the electricity grid playing. From the height of his apartment, the world looks like a million flashing diodes. Smiling, he puts on his helmet. He clips the straps around his waist, pulling them tight. He reaches to his shoulders and flicks the switches on the small boxes attached there. His form fades to the outside world. He holds out his hands.
“OK, LET’S DO THIS.”
The once Great Machine rockets into the sky, unseen and unheard by anyone.