The OK Team (6 page)

NEWSREADER:
A lucky escape for Detroit Level B'er the Echo when Category Five super-villain, the Iron Bar, made an unexpected foray into the Motor City last night. The Echo was forced to fight his way past nine of the Iron Bar's henchmen before turning his sonic echo on the Villain himself. The Iron Bar was able to repel the audio with a shield of metal, but the Echo found an angle off a distant glass roof with which to rebound his vocal attack and smack Iron Bar from behind. The Villain is now (chuckle) behind bars, pun intended. Nice work, Echo.

In other news, Roman Hero the Gladiator has told HeroTV that the arrival of a strange Hero, calling himself Coliseum Magnifico, was more of a hindrance than a help in last night's narrow win over Death-Raccoon. The unknown Hero claimed to be a ‘Bow', allegedly able to travel by rainbow, though international Hero authorities remain sceptical. And now to Hero Horoscopes . . .

It's heaven. Sometimes HeroTV features small one-minute packages celebrating ‘Great Moments in Heroics', with a recap of spectacular victories by Heroes over arch Villains, alien invaders or natural disasters.

What really surprises me is that I already know some of the stories. Super Surfer's classic battle against the SharkMen of Atlantis? Yeah, I'd read that one in MG Comics, Issue #473 (I looked it up to check). Star Princess's against-the-odds win over the Giant Alligator of the Planet Quaoar? Galactic Comics, Issue #729.

I'm astounded to discover that while ordinary people (including me, until a few days ago) think comics are merely fantasy cartoons for kids to read, they are actually the chosen newspapers of the Heroes themselves, a way of keeping in touch with each other's exploits. Kind of a paper-based Hero blog, or a way of providing a more detailed account of their adventures than a quick news grab on HeroTV. I go back to my boxes of old comics and devour them all over again, catching up on the exploits of the inhabitants of my new world.

The Beginner's Guide makes it clear that Heroes should not even think about presenting their new secret identity to the world until they have come up with an impressive, professional costume and a super name. Apparently, the Hero executive in Gotham doesn't want Heroes in any corner of the world wandering around in a bad tracksuit with an old towel as a cape. It's a matter of pride, as much as anything. To inspire fear and awe among those they battle, Heroes must look the part. Golden Boy is even pictured in the Guide, presented as a literally shining example, his costume catching sunlight as he strikes a dramatic midair pose, looking every inch a top-line Hero.

Coming up with my costume isn't easy. I finally have the idea while walking home from school at dusk, that beautiful silvery time of the day just before night falls. Catching sight of myself in a shop window, I realise that between the soft silver light and my usual blurriness, I am close to invisible. There and then, I decide on silver for my costume's primary colour. Even better, in Olympic medals silver is just behind gold, and I'm happy to leave the winner's medal to Golden Boy at this stage of my career.

Of course, I look ridiculous in my first attempt at a costume, which is your standard skin-tight lycra Hero outfit. Whoever decided that superheroes should wear bodysuits was clearly not thinking beyond the 1930s and 1940s, when carnivals and acrobats might have been more popular. In the new millennium, there is no way to walk around in a silver figure-hugging costume and not feel like a goose, superpowered or not, especially when you're a gangly, thin, thirteen-year-old boy who's a long way from having the sort of musclebound chest that can fill out a costume like the Triple A Level Heroes.

I go back to the drawing board and almost throw out the whole silver idea, wondering if a white costume would show the dirt too much? Or would people think I was a cricketer? Or, worse, a lawn bowler!

But then I realise that silver isn't the problem: it's the design. I even log into
www.herohints.com
to confirm that there aren't many Heroes out there wearing silver or with silver in their name. There's only Silverman, SilverSon, Silvery Dilvery, Prince Silver, Captain Silver, Silver-King, Super Silvery, Soulsilver, Silverfish, Miss Silver, Mrs Silver, Son of Silver, Silvero, Silvery, Silver Steve, Silverous, Super Silver, Silverado, Silverman, Silvergirl, Siverboy, Silverperson, Silverspider, I-Can-Believe-It's-Not-Silver, Silveroo and Silvery Moon.

See, I've practically got the colour to myself.

The book also warns new Heroes not to make a hasty decision on their super name, as this will be their immortal signature. Harsh as it is, the Handbook even mentions ‘Clarence the Really Terrific Robot Battler', a 1960s Hero, as a warning. Poor Clarence did some good work but could never be taken seriously. While I have ninety days to register a name, I'm advised to use that time to think carefully and come up with a good one.

At school the next day, all I can think about is potential names.

The Blur?

Blinky 2?

Nephew of Blinky?

Super Squint?

Eyestrain?

Captain Fuzzy?

Misty?

Misty Man?

The Mistmeister?

Misto?

Maybe not something to do with Mist.

Cloudy?

Blur Boy?

Blurrific?

Invisi-Man?

Sitting at my desk, I throw all of them out. I'm staring out the window, watching Simon Fondue walk past, deep in concentration. It must be a trick of the light or a reflection of the sun because something bright keeps flashing on Simon's hand but I can see his hands are empty. Weird.

Suddenly I become aware of my humanities teacher, Mrs Restroom, looming at my desk. ‘Hazy Retina? What is it with you today? Can't you focus for just one minute? Is it that hard to focus on a blackboard? I'm not talking about – you know –
you
. I'm talking about your attention. What do I have to do to get you to focus?'

Mrs Restroom slams her fist on my desk.

‘HAZY RETINA. ARE YOU FOCUSING?'

‘Yes, ma'am, I'm focus. I mean, I'm focusing. This is science, right?'

Everybody laughs. I get a detention. I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. I'm too busy thinking about what just came out of my mouth, if accidentally.

‘I'm Focus,' I said.

Job done. I've got a Hero name.

CHAPTER 9
CAR CRASH

T
hat night, at 2 am, I'm standing shivering in a car park at the eastern end of the city centre, not far from Parliament House. From around the corner, maybe fifty metres away, a new-looking Ford sedan sails through the air on its side and slams into a concrete pillar, exploding the car and taking giant chunks out of the cement. The noise is terrifying.

Involuntarily I take three steps backwards and bump into Melbourne's Chief of Police, the miracle being that I'm solid enough to actually make contact.

I mumble an apology to the Chief, who raises an eyebrow at me, her arms folded across her chest. She sighs, looks at a man in a suit standing with her, and shakes her head.

I'm wearing jeans that are spray-painted silver, a silver T-shirt with a large ‘F' emblazoned on it, Dunlop Volley runners, also spray-painted silver, and a silver cape. Oh, and a silver mask across my eyes. Sure, my costume doesn't quite match up to the self-sufficient yet protective living skin of Captain Alien, but I'm on a smaller Hero budget. The cape was essential. When I tried to imagine myself out there, facing genuine criminals, the dream always seemed to involve clutching a fistful of cape and throwing it around myself so that I disappeared like a magician into its folds and was gone. Capes are dramatic, look great and are very super. Nobody wears a cape around, apart from Heroes. For a new Hero like me, not even convinced I am a Hero, a cape can carry the bluff a long way. Plus, and this is not to be taken lightly, a really long, cover-all cape can hide the fact that the rest of my costume is basically crap.

Something the Chief of Police is probably thinking right now. We both flinch as a Volkswagon Beetle soars through the air and is totalled against the far wall of the car park.

The Chief asks, ‘What was your name again?'

‘Focus!' I say it proudly, chest puffed, although I'm now so blurry she probably can't tell.

‘And your plan for beating Car Crash is . . .?'

‘Just formulating it now, ma'am,' I say.

We look at each other and both know this is a total lie.

I've got nothing.

‘And what about them?' she says, jerking a thumb at three other Heroes a few metres away.

‘You'd have to ask them, Chief. Um, I'll have a word if you like.'

She looks tired as she shakes her head. ‘Tell you what, why don't we all just sit tight for a bit. No sense rushing in. Are you by any chance new as a Hero?'

‘Yes I am,' I admit.

‘Grade D, maybe? Or a C?'

‘Actually, I'm Entry Level, Grade Two.'

‘Oh boy,' she says. ‘Ohhh boy. As I was saying, let's not rush into anything.'

The reason I'm here is because I'm completely ignoring the advice of Leon and the Hero Beginner's Guide, which cautions against charging into the world and immediately attempting to battle the forces of evil or attempt daring rescues. It says a start-up Hero should not launch into actual Hero work straightaway, but should wait until he or she is comfortable with their range of powers and realistic about their abilities.

Stuff that. Having waited my whole life to be a Hero, I'm not waiting any more.

I sneak a glance around the corner but Car Crash is on the other side of the lifts. All I can see is his enormous hulking shadow on the wall as he crouches, picks up the shadow of what looks like a massive 4WD and hoists it over his head. I swing back to safety just in time to hear the metal splinter. A massive wheel bounces past our hiding spot.

Car Crash is the reason I'm here and not in bed. I saw a news flash on HeroTV an hour ago and snuck out of the house. Thrillingly for me, this monstrous ball of evil is redefining road rage by planning to destroy every vehicle in Melbourne, one car at a time. Part of me is wild with excitement to be here, loving the fact that the everyday population is sleeping peacefully, with no idea that a midlevel super-villain is on a rampage. Unless I can stop him. Or the Victorian Government can pay him forty million dollars to hold off on his threat. These last few minutes, Car Crash has been getting antsy, wondering where the money is.

A BMW flies and dies. My ears ring from the noise. And I still don't have a plan.

I look again at the other Heroes present. Two youths are slumped against the wall, and a small Hero is bouncing up and down on the spot, smiling cheerfully at anybody who looks his way. I should go over and talk to them, see if they've got any good ideas, but I can already tell they won't.

The youths appear to be asleep for a start.

And then there is a golden light, glowing from the air above the lane outside the five-storey car park. My heart skips a beat. Can it be? I already know it is. I surge to complete invisibility with excitement and expectation as the light grows brighter, and then I watch him land, effortlessly stepping out of the sky.

A Holden ute smashes into the nearest wall but Golden Boy only glances at it, a small frown on his golden face, as though a mosquito had wafted past. Then he walks over to where we are standing.

‘Golden Boy! Thank God!' says the Chief of Police.

‘Officer,' Golden Boy nods. He looks at the man in the suit who is staring at him even more goggle-eyed than I am.

Obviously, by his face, he hasn't seen many superheroes in action.

‘Is security clear?' Golden Boy asks the Chief.

‘It is.'

‘Car Crash looks like he means business.'

‘We got here about twenty minutes ago. He's thrown ten or twelve cars and he's not slowing down,' the Chief says.

‘His personal record is forty cars, or thirty-two cars and two trucks, depending on which statistics you follow. It could be a long night.'

‘How do you know all that? Have you battled him before?'

‘No, but I Googled him on the Golden Computer Remote on my way here. Have you sealed off the area, Chief ?'

‘I have officers stopping traffic at both ends of Collins, Little Collins and Bourke Streets, as well as Spring Street and Exhibition. There's a perimeter, citing road works, a kilometre out in all directions.'

‘Nice work.' Golden Boy swings around and looks at the nervous politician. ‘Who are you? You're not the Premier.'

‘Public relations,' says the large man, sweating heavily as he steps forward. ‘Here to make sure the Government doesn't get blamed for damaged vehicles. Not that we'd dream of blaming you, of course, Golden Boy. Ha ha ha. It's nice to meet you, by the way. I never realised –'

‘We work hard to make sure most people don't realise,' Golden Boy says. He looks hard at the man. ‘I hope you will respect that and keep our confidence.'