Chapter Twenty-Nine - Fabien the Fabulous

Things weren’t going so well for William.

Ever since he was young, he had always wanted to be one of two things. Either a dashing hero, or a dashing villain. He had practised from the moment that he could to hone his skills.

Obviously, he wasn’t a fool. He was realistic about his expectations. He aimed for a career in the Heroic Response Force, something that would allow him to work next to the heroes he adored. Perhaps he could join one as an unpowered sidekick? But that was wishful thinking.

So he worked out, he studied, he prepared.

The day came, and as with every Power Day, he hoped.

Being a Scoundrel wasn’t part of his plans, but he could work with it. Certainly it fit him perhaps a little better than some of the more heroic-leaning options.

He leaned into it.

His powers weren’t the most powerful, but they were versatile, which at times made up for much. Being flashy was nice, but staying alive was nicer.

William groaned and leaned against one of the tunnel’s damp walls, hand over his sides which still smarted. Flashy powers weren’t all bad, he supposed. They’d certainly smacked him around.

He knew about Glamazon before heading out, of course. He did his homework. The guy with the chains wasn’t in any of his studying material. He knew now--from looking it up--that he was a former... not-quite-villain called Iron Chains. William hadn’t even gotten the man’s name.

Too many chains, combined with those explosive bursts of light--which he could now confirm had some sort of distracting component to them, all of his predictions had him turning towards them even when he tried not to--had over-ridden his own power quite neatly.

His ability was simple. He could accurately predict an entire minute into the future. In that minute, he could choose to move with much greater ease and finesse than he did naturally. Not that he wasn’t spry, but he became unnaturally so when his movements were predicted.

If he chose to follow his path, then he would, for a moment, be able to move with that same grace.

It meant that his fights were gorgeous and deadly. He acted as though he knew what was going to happen before it did, because he did know.

The problem was initiating the fight. He usually had to run through three or four iterations before he found one where he was victorious, and that meant a few second’s hesitation before he moved.

It would get better with practice.

Practice which would be hard to get at this point. His last fight had been something of a disaster. His power was good when he was on the offensive. Less so when he was forced to duck and weave away from an aggressive foe who was willing to push against him.

Glamazon and Iron Chains had been a worse-case scenario. Now he was suffering from his incompetence.

No dwelling on it. His appearances on social media weren’t all that bad. He suspected that Glamazon or one of her lackeys were posting and reposting the same gifs of their fight to get more attention. He didn’t look too bad in those, weaving around chains and darting away from Glamazon’s attacks. He liked the way his rapier looked, and a few of the videos captured his good side.

He rubbed at his mouth. The tape he used for his persona’s moustache was having a negative reaction with his skin. He’d need to find another way to keep that part of his disguise up.

He made a note to find some way to pad his costume a little too. His back was bruised from having to roll across bare asphalt.

So many things to deal with.

It was better to dwell on those than on his situation in general. He couldn’t go back to his dorm injured as he was. His costume didn’t hide his hair well, and his injuries would be distinct if he went to a hospital.

With a sigh, he pushed himself off the wall and started walking again.

These tunnels ran across a good portion of the city. He knew more or less where the next exit was, and from there he could sneak over to his grandmother’s place. She was a kindly woman, and a retired nurse.

Really, he was scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas.

A scuffle ahead had him look up, but he had crossed paths with a few rats already. They usually saw him and skittered off to do whatever rat thing they were up to elsewhere. On the next long curve in the tunnel, he realized that it wasn’t a rat he was hearing, but by then it was too late.

He met eyes with a figure standing in the dark. Its eyes glowed, glinting green in the near-darkness of the tunnel, lit only by the little pocket flashlight he carried.

“Hey,” a girl’s voice spoke in the dark. It echoed. Really, no other voice could have been creepier at that moment. “You’re probably not supposed to be here,” she said.

He stood a little taller, switched his light to his other hand, then carefully gripped the hilt of his rapier. “I’m not?” he asked.

“No. I’m going to tell The Boss that you’re here. Don’t move, okay.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t tell anyone,” he said.

The eyes disappeared for a moment as the child blinked. “Too late. Besides, I don’t need to listen to you. Only the Boss.”

Red flags. Lots of red flags.

“And where is this Boss?” he asked.

The sounds of footfalls answered that for him. Lots of footfalls, and lights further in the tunnel that were becoming brighter as a group approached.

He considered running. That was the more intelligent thing to do.

The issue was the nearest exit was far away, and it wouldn’t be hard to follow in a one-way tunnel. Also, injured as he was, he couldn’t exactly run, not without making the injury substantially worse.

So, his only option was to stand his ground.

He whipped off his coat, flipped it inside-out, then fished a mask out from its pocket and slipped it on. It wasn’t his full disguise. That would require some time, a mirror, and more of that skin-glue he was beginning to suspect that he was allergic to.

He shifted over to the centre of the tunnel, then stood with his back straight, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

The question was, could he defeat this bunch?

He knew how to test that.

A thought activated his power.

Fabien the Fabulous rushed forwards, charging past the girl in the lead, but not without pirouetting around her and kicking her behind the knees. The girl screamed, fell back onto the track, and burst apart.

Another girl, identical, appeared next to her sibling... a clone power, then?

He was back in the middle of the tunnel, having not moved at all from his spot. The girl he kicked over was still before him, and the world was unchanged.

Another try, then.

He charged forwards, sword rasping out of its sheath (he had it specially made to make that sound like in the movies). He smacked the hilt into the face of the first girl, spun over the tracks in the middle of the tunnel, then started to lunge towards the only man in the group.

His foot caught on something, and he tripped into his own sword.

He blinked. He had never messed up so poorly before. Usually how power made him more graceful, not less. Unless... a nerve-control power? Maybe something probability based, or that made an adversary clumsy?

William grit his teeth. That was two confirmed powers. Next... the girl in the middle of the pack, the one glaring at him in a way that was actually making him a little nervous. The ringleader?

Stepping to the side, he hopped over the tracks and onto more flat ground, then rushed forwards, sword coming out of its sheath.

The world darkened around the edges and--

No, that wasn’t working at all.

So, another plan, then.

He placed his light down so that it shone onto him, a tiny spotlight from below, then with a flourishing bow that made every part of him hurt, he introduced himself. “I am Fabien the Fabulous, at your service,” he said.

***