The Metawars, Chapter 11 (new)

New content!  This one comes after the chapter where Evermind reprimands Ghost.  I borrowed a lot of stuff from Chapter 15 with some new stuff at the end.
In the edited Chapter 8, Nucleon and Charles briefly talk about planning an attack on Houston...so the mentions of that at the beginning of this aren't totally out of left field.

Not sure if this is a good direction to take the story...I'll tell you what my tentative plans are after you read the chapter.

Chapter 11:

“The exact origin of the Metahuman is unknown. From the time and place of the first recorded Metahumans – beginning in Japan in 1946 – it can be surmised that high levels of radiation initially led to the creation of superpowers in normal human beings. If this is indeed the cause, it is still unknown how this phenomena became a worldwide one and how abilities are passed on.”

-Summary of analysis of metahuman history and abilities, by Gold and Morris, et al, 1983.

“Can you believe it?” Hothead plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “Nucleon blows up half of Houston and there's nothing we can do.” He strolled down Lexington Ave with Speedster, head bowed low.

“I think you're exaggerating,” Speedster said. For once he was keeping pace with Hothead and not doing anything distracting. Normally Speedster would be dancing on the spot, twiddling his thumbs or slapping his hands against his thighs in a rhythm so fast that the sound became one blurring note. Sometimes he would run a lap around Manhattan before Hothead realized he was gone. Speedster argued that it made no difference; he was gone for maybe three seconds, long enough to keep himself from going stir-crazy, but Hothead still felt offended. Any sympathy he might have once had for Speedster's conditions had long since evaporated. He'd stopped caring about how hard it was for Speedster to lay still long enough to sleep at night, or how much food he had to eat and nutrient injections he needed to fill his bottomless stomach and fuel his ceaseless metabolism. Now there was only irritation.

“Okay, a little. The point still stands.” Hothead jabbed the air with his cigarette to emphasize his point. “Nucleon and his crew get into the city, sabotage a factory and the Rough Riders aren't there to respond. What the hell.” He clamped back down on his cigarette and stuck his hands into his utility belt. As his uniform lacked pockets, it was the next best thing he could do.

“It's too late to do anything about it, really,” said Speedster.

“You think that's an excuse? Things are happening out there and we can't get anything done. We're losing. And we're stuck here unable to do much of anything.”

“Looking for some action, eh?” Speedster grinned, and his smile grew even wider when he waved to some people across the street who called out to him, screaming and waving. “One sec,” he muttered, and ran across the street, right through traffic. Hothead leaned against a nearby building, smoking and rolling his eyes as he watched Speedster blab with the excited fans. Tourists, likely. New Yorkers were mostly used to seeing the Guardians out and about in their flashy white-and-blue uniforms. Speedster struck a dramatic pose. Cameras flashed. Hothead flicked the his cigarette butt away and fished the carton out of his utility belt. He shook it, but all that came out were a few lonely flakes of tobacco.

“Damn.”

Speedster returned, still smiling. “College girls. Get this; they say I'm their favorite superhero.” He raised his eyebrows, as though expecting Hothead to say something in return.

“I need more ciggs. Come with me.”

“Ever tried to quit?” Speedster asked as Hothead tossed the Marlboro carton over his shoulder. Hothead smacked his lips and snapped his fingers. He felt the oxygen slip between his thumb and middle finger and superheat in an instant. A tongue of flame flickered between his fingers before being blown out by the breeze. The gesture felt useless without a cigarette to light, but it was something to do.

“Once,” he said, “after Evermind pulled me into the Guardians.”

“After the whole Cinder thing,” Speedster added.

“Yeah. After that.” The bad times. Looking back on it, Hothead was not sure why he'd teamed up with Cinder. Theft and arson had seemed like a much better career path when he was twenty-two, and no one could do it better than her. It had taken a solid beating by the Guardians and the threat of prison to make him see straight. Superhero work wasn't bad. Better than the uncertainty of high-risk bank jobs. Maybe Cinder would have agreed, if she hadn't fled before the battle was over. Doubtful, though. Bitch was crazy enough.

“Evermind figured I should stop smoking. Public image and all that crap. I told her I'd just smoke away from the cameras, but we both knew that wasn't going to happen. So I eventually went cold turkey and it lasted for a year.” Hothead made another lick of flame with his fingers and made the fire dance between his fingers in a golden helix. Some of the people on the street stopped to watch him, and other whipped out their cell phones to snap pictures of the two heroes, but Hothead ignored them. “Then there was that one battle with General Fissure. Hardest fight of my life. Ever tried to save orphans while fighting someone?” Hothead pressed a hand to his forehead and ran it down his face. It was not a pleasant memory. “Spent a week in intensive care afterwords. Broken arm and ribs. And I needed something other than the crossword to do while I was sitting around all day. So I took up smoking again and damn Evermind for trying to make me stop.”

“Why didn't she make you stop?” Speedster asked. “You know...” He wiggled his fingers around the region of his temple and mimed a serious expression, brows drawn together and lips pursed in a fair impression of Evermind. “Mind control?”

Hothead snorted. Smoke and sparks billowed out of his nostrils. The air caught in his throat and he hawked up a glob of phlegm, spitting into the gutters. “You think she didn't try? She did. Rewired my brain to make me never want them again, or made me forget I'd started again. All kinds of crap. Never worked.”

“Why not?”

“Eh, she explained it to me once. Something about pathways in the brain. My body was too used to the chemical addiction that no amount of mind control would fix it. So I eventually told her to stay out of my head and let me smoke as much as I wanted. Hasn't bothered me since.”

Speedster hemmed and hawed. “Hmm. I wonder if she could fix anyone else? Ghost is kind of whiny.”

“Lay off the kid,” Hothead said. “He's a teenager. He'll grow out of it. And I think Evermind has other things to think about than making her team perfect.”

“I dunno,” said Speedster. “One time she told me-”

Hothead ignored him. The rattle and roar of evening traffic drowned out Speedster. He was hard to ignore, generally, but Hothead had a lot of practice.

“Here,” said Hothead, pointing to a Dwayne Reid on the corner.

The inside of the store was crowded for a Thursday afternoon. He ignored the people around him and went straight to the counter. The girl at the register couldn't have been older than eighteen. Her eyes lit up when she looked up at her customer, a huge smile spreading across her face. “You're Hothead!” she gushed.

“Yeah, it's me,” he agreed. He knew people would be watching him, but it was no concern to him. Speedster, he was sure, would be soaking up the attention. “Pack of Marlboro Special Blends,” he said as he reached into his utility belt, pulled out his Guardians ID Card and flipped it onto the counter. “Put it on the card.”

The girl reached behind her for the pack of cigarettes, eyes still locked onto Hothead. She acted like she'd never seen a Metahuman before. With deliberate motions she placed the pack on the counter and picked up Hothead's card, turning it over to study the front. Hothead knew she was looking at the tiny photo on the ID. It was an old picture, from just a year after joining the Guardians. Cinder had still been at large then. An awful photo, really.

“You don't have to pay for this,” the girl said finally.

“Just put it on the card,” he said. “It's not a big deal.”

“Please,” she said, “I insist.”

“It's not that expensive. Just swipe the card, kid.”

She did, but it was with some reluctance. She passed the card back to Hothead with trembling fingers. “Thanks,” Hothead said as he took the carton in one hand and plucked the card from her fingers with the other. He slipped both into his utility belt and called out to Speedster, “Come on.” Speedster tore himself away from the newsstand with some reluctance.

“I was reading,” he said.

“Good for you.” Hothead lit up. He vaguely wondered if it was more likely for him to die in combat or succumb to lung cancer.

“Opinion on the war's pretty split. More than you might think. Lots of people support Nucleon. Important people.”

“Well, then we'll just have to beat him sooner, before more people decide they like his ideas.”

They made their way back to Park Avenue and into Headquarters. Olivia greeted them in the lobby, and the two heroes stood together in silence during the elevator ride up to the eleventh floor.

“You're just in time,” Evermind said as they stepped into the living space. “Senate hearings.” She waved them over to the TV.

“Oooh. C-SPAN. My favorite.” Hothead sat on the couch next to Evermind. “What's going on?”

“Issues relevant to the war. They've got the DMR present.”

“Thrilling.” Speedster watched with a fair attempt at feigning interest. Ghost sat curled up in a chair with his copy of Super America. Brick stood in the corner, arms crossed.

“So what's going on?” Speedster asked.

Without looking up, Ghost whispered, “Shhh.”

The politicians on screen yammered on. Pointless drivel. Majesticus took the podium at one point, and spoke for a few minutes. “Regardless of what this group of Metahumans has done, it does not reflect upon us as a community. All of us, all agents of the Metahuman Police Act, are devoted to ending this conflict and restoring order. The actions of these rebels should not condone us all. We stand united in our pursuit of peace and justice.” Applause, applause. There was a small moment as Majesticus removed his glasses and tucked them back in his jacket where Hothead thought he saw the old hero sigh.

Senator Spencer Alan swaggered up to the podium, and after much adjusting of his tie and smiling like an obese snake, he began his bit. Evermind leaned in closer.

“Senators. Fellow Americans,” he intoned.

“Prick,” Ghost muttered.

“We are all of us threatened by Nucleon. While we may have praised the actions of this man in the past, in the present we can only condemn him as a terrorist. I don't know about you, but I for one will not negotiate with terrorists. And I will never negotiate with a Metahuman terrorist!”

“What's he doing?” asked Brick over the sound of applause. Evermind waved a hand at him to silence him.

“The people of Florida have seen firsthand the benefits of a strong MPA. And we have seen what can come when powerful Metahumans are given free reign.” Beside Hothead, Evermind clenched her fist. “He cannot have what he so unreasonably demands. He insists upon being unchecked and free. I don't know about you, but I won't let a man who's a walking atom bomb walk free among us!”

Hothead watched as the majority of those present in the senate rose clapping to their feet. It was one thing to oppose Nucleon, but Senator Alan was whipping people into a frenzy. He glanced around the common room, but his teammates all watched the screen in rapt silence.

“My deepest condolences go out to the people of Texas. They lost good people. Innocent people who had nothing to do with this war, but who Nucleon decided needed to suffer for his vision. I've spoken with Secretary Chapman and the rest of the DMR, and the truth is plain: we don't have enough forces to combat this menace. Not enough policemen. Not enough armed forces. We lack in intelligence. And we lack superheroes that we can rally behind and depend on!

“The solution, then, is clear. We need more manpower. We need people with the abilities to combat Nucleon and his terrorists. And there are many in the country who were given opportunities outside of the hero program by none other than Nucleon.”

Hothead felt the breath catch in his throat. The hammer was about to fall.

“Let us roll back the changes to our MPA that Nucleon himself put in place. Why should we accept changes to our laws made by an enemy of the state? Let us go back the model we know works, to what President Eisenhower envisioned in 1959. Any Metahuman who has been given a state-sanctioned position outside of the superhero program should be brought in. Any hero on leave shall be called in for active duty. We outnumber Nucleon, and we will beat him. This will not be a day of defeat for America. We will not have another Houston. Not again. With a stronger MPA we can ensure the safety of all citizens, human and Metahuman!”

Thunderous applause greeted his statement, but the Guardians all remained silent.

“He can't,” said Ghost. “He can't do that. That's literally the most illegal thing I've ever heard.”

“He won't get the support for it,” Brick said.

Hothead snorted. “Don't kid yourself. Look at them.” He gestured to the screen. Standing ovation. “They love it. Alan's going to roll back everything. Whatever it takes to win. And they'll all go along with it.”

“They can't,” said Ghost, his voice small.

“No, they will. And I bet a lot of registered heroes will go along with it, too. Anything to win. Look, I'm sorry, kid, but that's how it is,” he said as Ghost stood and stormed out of the room. “It is,” he said with a shrug. Evermind did not respond, but continued to watch with a tight-lipped intensity. “Hey. Can we do anything about this?” he asked her.

“I'm not sure,” she said. She didn't look at Hothead. “Perhaps not. But we may not want to do anything about it.”

“What?”

“These changes that Alan proposes,” Evermind said, gesturing to the screen, “can't be permanent. They'll go through, but they won't last. And they may help us for the time being.”

“I really don't think that's the case,” Brick said. He came forward and crouched down behind the couch so he was closer to Evermind and Hothead. “You know Alan's stance. Once he implements these changes he and everyone else will be too comfortable with them to change them back.”

“I don't think so. And if we're not doing everything we can to win this, then what are we doing? Losing to Nucleon is not an option.”

“So, what,” said Hothead, “we're going to rewind progress to win?” He glanced back to Speedster, looking for backup, but Speedster had left. Typical.

“You're exaggerating,” Evermind said.

“No, I really don't think I am.”

“It's pointless to speculate now, anyway.” Evermind unfolded herself from the couch and stood.

“You don't really feel that way, do you?” Brick asked her, his voice low. Evermind left the room. Her silence and the determined set of her walk was all the answer Hothead needed. “She can't be okay with this,” Brick said to Hothead.

“I have no idea what she thinks,” he muttered, and slumped deeper into the couch. It didn't make a difference to Hothead now. The only thing that had saved him from prison was Evermind's kindness. And he didn't mind. He was good at what he did, he liked to think. So why did it matter to him?

“She doesn't know what she's talking about,” Hothead said, more to himself than to Brick. “Doesn't know.”