#stop watch

Reintroductions Are In Order

The funeral was a grand affair, a truly great memorial, one which took up most of midtown for all the solemn marchers and people lining the roads as the coffin passed. The coffin was mostly for show, the family’s actual arrangements having happened the day previous, in private, but what could you expect for one of the greatest heroes the city had ever known.

The ceremony itself was set in the city’s largest park, a stage like a musical performance having been built, adorned with all the decorations of a church with black and white ribbons and screens showing pictures of the deceased as she was in life.

With everyone gathered, the hero Sanctimony approached the microphone, tapped it for silence, and began.

“Welcome everyone, and I hope we are all well,” he began in tones of sadness. “We of course gather here today to mourn the loss of hero and friend, Ms Melody Planker, otherwise known as Chorus, one of the most amazing superheroes I personally have ever known,” he said, a faint crack shaping his voice. “Our thoughts and prayers are of course with her friends and family, but today we gather to say our own fondest farewells, as heroes, as citizens, and as those inspired by this legendary woman, leader of The League of Titans, and her deeds.”

On cue, the screens behind Sanctimony changed to various images of The League of Titans, all eight of them, those confirmed deceased having their images turned black and white. Chorus’s image, centre stage, faded to grey before their eyes.

“The city is indeed indebted to Ms Planker, and words can never quite do that debt justice. But, even so, we now have a few sermons from some of those that Ms Planker saved over her many years, and some of those who were most inspired by her heroics.”

Sanctimony stepped back, while a small old man in a suit approached the mic. He cleared his throat and began, introducing himself as one of the many people saved during the Apocalypto Incident decades ago, who’d personally seen Chorus in action.

The speech was slow, and a little plodding, but the crowd watched in wrapt silence. Justice Man especially stared from the front row, eyes wet with tears. He silently mourned his idol, holding close his thoughts of her, then blew his nose a bit too loudly. His daughter, Justice Girl, passed him a tissue. She was otherwise stoic, trying mostly not to stand out. She’d never met Ms Planker, and had only ever heard her dad talk about Chorus secondhand. Even so, she knew the woman’s importance, if only on an academic level, and you needed to show your face for these things, mask permitting. It was especially important, as she was soon to become a hero herself. Her powers were a recent development, but you had to show willing for events like this.

On the nearby rooftops, a pair of figures showed willing in their own way. Stealth Watcher, a brooding cowled hero, and Stealth Watcher II, his equally if not more brooding protégé, watched from their perch overhead. It was windy, and Watcher II, though she was still working on the name, was freezing her bits off. But they weren’t really “sitting in the crowd" type heroes. They were “lurking ominously on rooftops” type. At this moment though, Watcher II would have traded the cowl for a nice space heater.

Back on stage, the old man finally finished and returned the microphone to Sanctimony, who introduced the next speaker, someone reading chosen poetry on this solemn occasion.

In the third row, Detective Lucy Washburn was trying not to look bored. She’d met Ms Planker only once, and had thought her a good sort; That kind of old woman with eternal fire, a gleam in her eye, the kind you thought could never go out. And yet, here they were.

Beside her, her partner Detective Jimmy was doing his best not to fall asleep. Lucy made sure to nudge him occasionally; the chief would never forgive them snoring through the ceremony. A few people were stealing glances at the young officer though, clearly awaiting a more appropriate moment to get an autograph. He was a local celebrity now, though not a super one, thank heavens, following his legendary arrest of Cosmo Derringer, a person Ms Planker had hated. But Lucy, who’d actually led the arrest and done most of the work, barely got more than a glance. She didn’t care though. She could only think there was someone who deserved to be there more than either of them; her mentor, Jack Parker. Jack had saved dozens of civilians during the Apocalypto Incident, and had been thanked by The League of Titans personally for his bravery… but he couldn’t make it, on account of being dead. Jack had been murdered by Dark Dragon, Chorus’s own nemesis, almost a year and a half ago.

It was an unfair world.

Soon enough, the poetry ended, for the moment anyway, and Sanctimony reappeared to speak at length concerning the impressive achievements of Ms Planker. This mostly took the form of stats: Number of Villains Beaten, Number of Lairs Destroyed, Number of Times She’d Saved The City. She’d have made a hell of a Top Trumps Card, Lucy thought.

Elsewhere, far away, watching from a screen looming over Intellitron Resorts, was Mr Intellitron, former supervillain and current resort owner, and his right hand man, Henchman 14. They watched the ceremony remotely in humble silence. 14 gave a small henchman’s salute, which was like a normal salute but meeker, to the old woman. He’d been the last wielder of her legendary Sword of Songs, using it to save the city, much to his own surprise.

It was his understanding the sword had mystically vanished following Melody’s death, probably returned to whatever forces govern these things. He was just glad he’d given it back, and it hadn’t found him again since. He could do without being chosen as some new hero because he’d used it once. But he saluted all the same, that bright eyed old woman.

Back in the stands of the funeral, a hero hovered, because why worry about seating when you can fly? Judgement hovered to one side of the crowd, her phone recording the whole event, hopefully in good enough quality. It wasn’t for posterity, not personally, but in fact for record keeping. Sanctimony would want the recording later, for historic purposes.

Also, it was easier than writing it all down. Her editor at her job, her real life job, would want a play by play from someone on the ground, even if it was being broadcast across the world. From the footage, she could write down the specifics later, such as who was there and who was crying the hardest, crass as that was. But it would sell papers.

Her boss rarely asked how she got such exclusives from hero events. She just said she had an inside man, which was almost true enough. It wasn’t a lie.

But, putting her job aside for a moment, she looked down at the tragic stage before her, the lost images of The League of Titans, joining them now, the legendary Chorus. Judgement smiled sadly, raised two finger to her lips and blew a small kiss, a kiss to the woman who had inspired her to be a hero too. And in a low tone, she said:

“Goodbye, Ms Planker. We’ll miss you.”

An that was that.

* * *

Judith Mint sat, occupied at her desk. She was a dark skinned, middling height, full figured woman, with black hair down to her shoulders, and a body somewhere between chubby and muscular. She was currently drumming her fingers as she edited an article a friend of hers had foisted on her. It was sports, which was not her field, but she could at least wrestle out the worst grammatical errors and any blatant mistakes, like the one where the writer called the local team The Greystoke Mongooses. It was the Greystoke Geese, not that it was much better. She wasn’t even sure why the Hero City team was named the Greystoke anythings.

She was thankfully distracted when someone knocked on her door.

“Boss wants to see you,” the secretary said.

“Thanks, Mary,” Jude answered, honestly guessing at the name. A look of annoyance showed she’d missed.

The boss was in his office, a place where every inch of wall was covered in framed articles, ones that had won some award or other. Not all of them were the boss’s awards personally, but he had been editor in chief when they happened, so they were his by right of transference.

The boss span in his chair as Jude entered.

“Judith!” he said, clearly up a few cups of coffee already. “We need to strike while the iron is hot. Now now now! We need to get it done.”

“You need to tell me what needs doing first, boss. I’m not psychic,” Jude said calmly. That certainly wasn’t one of her powers.

“What? Oh, Millicent didn’t tell you? I’ll fire her. Oh, wait, I didn’t tell her either. Fine, she can keep her job. But you, you need to write me an article!”

“It is why you pay me, sir.”

“Right. You need to write me an article about the recent thing,” he said, twitching.

“Sir, breathe. Focus. Now, what are you talking about?”

Her boss took a breath. “Right. This Chorus business. She died, it’s sad, we need to write something on it.”

Jude’s brow furrowed. “I already did the write-up on the funeral, sir. It should be in your In Tray.” She eyed the teetering mountain of paper that occupied the corner of his desk.

“No, something new, something fresh, something current. No, not current. I mean the other thing. Something historical! But do make it current. A Where Are They Now or something like that. That’s the ticket!”

Jude’s brow remained furrowed. “You’re… asking me where Chorus is now? Because the answer is likely her grave. And it’s likely guarded against supervillains currently-”

“No, not her! She’s dead, Judith. But her team, they were important too, right?”

“The League of Titans? Yes, they were very important, sir.”

“Then do a Where Are They Now on them, Judith. You’re good at the hero stuff. Don’t know how, but you’re great at it. Find them, see how they feel about Ms Planker’s death, how are they doing now, did any of them cry? There could be a Pulitzer in it for you!”

“I… very much doubt that, sir. But, if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”

“Great! Now, what are you still doing here? And send in Karla or Katherine or Kelly or whatever on your way out. She’s fired for… some reason I haven’t remembered yet. Send her in.”

Judith left, and let Clark in, as it turned out. He was a young farm boy type, looked good in those glasses, whose main duty was getting the coffee throughout the day. Why he’d be in trouble, she couldn’t guess, but the boss likely wouldn’t fire him. The man was always a mess, one coffee away from either writing the best article ever or trying to fly out the window. He’d likely just order another espresso to maintain his buzz. But the madness kept them busy, it surely did. She returned to her desk and sat, putting her mind to the problem.

The League of Titans…

On the surface, it seemed simple. Track them down, interview them, done. But there were a few troubles. Jude was a superhero herself, in her spare time anyway, the hero Judgement, and even she had never met half of The League. There were those who’d gone missing, some presumed dead, and others who’d then come back. Just a few years ago, Laser Lad had miraculously returned through time, old but alive. She’d even been there to see that, though it had also revealed a few gaps in her League knowledge.

Growing up, she never really cared about The League, not personally. She had admired their leader, Chorus, a black, female superhero like herself, and one who kicked the most ass. The city had even been renamed in her team’s honour. But she only knew about Chorus. And she’d only met Ms Planker once, when her Sword of Songs got stolen, and only then because Justice Man was busy. And she’d made a bit of a fool of herself…

But, she had a job to do. Her real job this time.

She needed an in. Justice Man was a good source of information, though she half imagined he’d refuse to reveal any secrets to Judith Mint. And she’d need to approach in civilian guise. He’d never talk to her, and she couldn’t risk blurring the lines, asking questions as Judgment, only for an article with that info to appear under her real name. That would just be sloppy.

No, she needed to approach this old school… or at least as old school as possible, while still able to fly around whenever she wanted, and with certain insider knowledge as a hero.

First things first though, she did a quick internet search to make sure she had all the names right. Then she set off.

* * *

The Iron Hands gym in uptown was one of the most high end work out spots in the city, and with the number of muscled, Lycra bound people leaping across the rooftops, there were a fair few to compete. Even so, at the end of the day, it was basically still just a large space full of workout equipment with side rooms for personal workouts.

At the far end from the entrance was a large open area, sometimes used for sports, currently used for sparring. Five men were gathered, four young ones surrounding an older gentleman, though the youths were the ones looking nervous. A bell rang and they all tried to slug the old timer, but despite greying hair and a thin frame, the old man dodged and weaved like he could read their minds. He laid out the first with an uppercut, the next two with gut punches while he ducked, and unfortunately punched the last in the face so hard it sent him flying.

“Mr Fist Puncher?”

Fist Puncher whirled round, jabbed, and only missed Jude by inches because she managed to dart sideways. His fist hovered beside her head before it retracted.

“Oh. Sorry, miss. Thought you were one of my sparring partners,” the old hero said calmly. “Nice reflexes though.”

“Um… thanks,” she said, trying to ignore the sudden spike in her pulse.

“Take five, fellas,” he signalled to his friends. Three of them worked to carry off the fourth.

Fist Puncher was a sight to behold. Easily, he had to be in his eighties, but he had the muscular body of a thirty something, sinews tough like ancient wood beneath the skin, with only a few extra wrinkles and some noticeable veins with age. His hair was still present, though suspicious enough to be a wig, but his bushy moustache was real, a proud grey caterpillar under his nose, waxed at the tips. He was wearing a set of military-green dungarees, no shirt beneath, and nothing else visible besides some sturdy boots, not even gloves. And, rumour had it, he didn’t even have powers. He’d just spent an entire life getting really, REALLY good at one specific thing, and that was punching people really, really hard.

Well, it had worked.

“So, what’s brought you here, quick stepper?” he asked, just the edge of a German accent in his words. “You’re not paparazzi, are you? You know what I do to the paps, right?”

“I… don’t actually,” Jude realised. She could only imagine.

“I have them thrown out, miss. Bum’s rush and all that. You are a journalist though?”

Jude wondered how he knew, then realised she was holding a notepad. A bit of a tell.

“Yes, with the Hero City Journal. We are not the paparazzi,” she clarified.

He nodded, distractedly wrapping his hands. “You here to talk about something then?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry to bring it up, especially so soon in the wake of Chorus’s death, but I’m doing a piece on The League of Titans.”

He smiled. “Of course you are.”

“A Where Are They Now, sort of thing. As far as I’m aware though, you’re the only member of The League who’s still an active hero… which is impressive,” she added.

“These fists stop swinging when I stop breathing,” he said boldly. “So you want to know about the others? The rest of The League?”

“I do, but first…” Jude paused. She had to at least check. “How are you doing, sir? Losing Chorus can’t have been easy. You were life long friends, or so I’ve heard.”

Fist Puncher aimed a soft gaze her way. A softer smile followed. “Mel knew it was coming, miss. She was getting old and wearing thin, as do we all. I’m sure I’ll get there myself someday, my hip certainly thinks so, but she had the time to say her farewells. Did the rounds and all that. Got no regrets there, miss. But yes, she was a good one, and I’ll miss her fiercely, I surely will. Thank you for asking.”

“I didn’t really know what else to say…” Jude floundered.

“Yes. But you were asking about the others, right?” Fist Puncher got back on track, punching the air a few times. “How many have you got so far?”

“You’re my first stop, sir. The only ones I know about are you, the late Ms Planker, Laser Lad, and of course Burno,” she said with a side-eyed tone. “All the others I can’t find much about. There were eight of you, right, back in the day?”

“That’s right, miss, for a few golden years.”

“You couldn’t happen to point me in any given direction? I can’t even find Laser Lad’s address, not that that’s surprising. I know he’s alive, but…”

Fist Puncher, or as her research had unearthed, Karl Blitzkrieg, looked round at her suspiciously. He was one of the few heroes who didn’t really go in for the secret identity thing, not even wearing a small mask. He just didn’t seem to care. He looked her up and down, and then smirked.

“I’ll punch you for it,” he said at last.

“Pardon?!”

“Not punching your fine self, miss,” he amended. He pointed to one corner where a machine had been set up. It was one of those old strength tester punching bags, the sort you’d find at a fair or a seedy bar. He led her over. “I can reliably punch a score of 500, precisely. I could punch more, but there’s a finesse to these things too. Need to know when to hold back. If you can even approach my score, then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Jude approached the machine, tucking away her notepad and pen. She eyed the hanging bag warily. It looked sturdy, but likely not sturdy enough for her. She could punch through solid steel!

“How much does a normal person punch?” she asked.

“Oh, in the hundred range, topping at 150. That’s for a usual sort though. Say you beat 130, I’ll tell all.”

Jude nodded, squared her shoulders, and readied her fists. She danced them, like she’d seen boxers do, and swung. Her knuckles connected, barely a tap by her usual standards, but she had to get her eye in.

“108,” Fist Puncher noted. “Not bad. You’ve certainly got the arm muscles. Try again.”

She tried again. The machine rattled.

“127. There we go, you’re almost there.” He paced behind her, reaching into a pocket in his dungarees.

Jude danced her fists, tensing her arms. Just a little more. Not too much though. Finesse. She reeled back and went to- “OW!”

Fist Puncher pricked her on the shoulder with a pin and Jude’s fist shot out. The machine shuddered and almost fell over, despite the bolts holding it down. The bolts groaned.

“307,” Fist Puncher said passively. “Impressive. Knew you had it in you, quick stepper.”

“I… just got lucky, I suppose,” Jude said irritably, rubbing her shoulder. “Do you normally stab people with a pin?”

“Only when I think they’re holding back, Miss Mint,” he said knowingly.

“I just got lucky,” Jude dismissed. “But, I did beat your target. So, the addresses?”

Fist Puncher was already scrawling something on a bit of paper. “I’ve only got two for you, miss. I’ve got Tod, Laser Lad to you, and Stop Watch, or as I know him, Earnest. The others…” he paused. “No one knows what happened to Mask Man… well, maybe Mel did, but the rest of us didn’t. Burno, you know about him, obviously. I couldn’t say about the others. Not Swoop, not Indestructo, far as I know they’re gone. So, if you find them, you find them on your own. But I’ll at least give you a start with these two of my friends.” He handed over the addresses. “And be sure to tell Tod I said hi.”

* * *

The high rise, penthouse apartment was pretty much what Jude had expected. Faux-marble, red carpets, a pool on every floor, and the penthouse on near permanent reserve by Mr Tod Shiner, now publicly known as Laser Lad… though Lad still felt strange to say, as the man was pushing seventy.

Probably, anyway. Poor Laser Lad had accidentally time travelled when he was barely in his twenties, and this had seriously messed up whatever internal clock kept track inside him. So, despite being seventy physically, he had the demeanour and manner of a twenty something, but the joints of a ninety year old, which came as a surprise to the younger parts of him.

The penthouse was difficult to access, with a receptionist like a guard dog, the kind who could wield a pen like a killer wields a knife, and could cut a man down with a look. The sort that only rarely needed help from the black-suited, armed security team. Fortunately, this meant nothing to a journalist who could fly, and could just come down from the roof door.

She rang the panel outside Laser Lad’s apartment.

“I told you, I’m not doing anymore signatures today,” a weary voice answered. He still opened the door, and was rather surprised to meet Jude on the other side. “Oh. You’re not one of the staff.”

“No, Mr Shiner. I’m-”

“You better not be a stalker,” he snapped. “If you are, I’m going to have to have a word with the security around here.”

Jude froze. “Well, I’m not a stalker, Mr Shiner. I’m a journalist, though I guess it’s a comparable skill,” she said, before he could shut the door. It was closing. “But the hotel does know I’m here,” she lied, though it was a small lie. “Also, Karl sends his regards. He gave me your address himself!” she said practically through the crack as the door closed.

Laser Lad stopped. He opened the door wide, face creased with curiosity.

“Really?” He stared at her. “What was your score?”

“Pardon?”

“What was your score?” he asked patiently.

“…307?” Jude answered uncertainly.

Grey eyebrows went up. “Wow! Even Chorus only ever managed 450! I never got above 200. My word. You better come in then.”

He let her into a truly luxurious apartment; Fake zebra fur on the sofa, dark pink walls, and a plush carpet you could lose things in. At a glance, it was much more the luxury you’d expect for a rock star or a model, the kind of place you expected to get trashed after parties, not the place for one little old man who was hobbling towards the sofa.

Tod Shiner was a feeble thing, but he moved with surprising speed. His hair had once been red, but now was silver, though there was still a shine to his eyes, despite it all. While clearly old, his wrinkles were faint, like they were still new. It very much gave the impression of someone who hadn’t been old very long, who’s mind wasn’t used to it, and who’s body followed their mind on this matter.

Tod showed her to the sofa, where he gratefully took a seat, a creak in his knees almost audible. Jude took another seat, feeling sorry for him.

“So,” he began, “What brings you to my door? If Karl told you where to find me, it must be important.”

“Important is one word,” Jude said reluctantly. “I’m writing an article about The League of Titans, where they are now and all that. It’s in memory of Chorus, after Ms Planker’s recent death. And I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Shiner.”

Tod gave a small sad smile, both old and young all at once. “She was an amazing woman, Melody. Could fight the legions of evil, then make you laugh with a stupid joke. Then again, I was a kid back then, so I was easy to make laugh.” He sighed, straightening out some back ache. “She said her goodbyes, but I’m gonna miss her so much. Her and Mask Man were the only ones, the only two in the whole league, who treated me as more than just a mascot.”

“Really?” Jude said curiously? “I wouldn’t have expected The League to be mean to its members?”

“Well, no,” he dialled back. “Not mean, per se. At the start, I was the team sidekick, and a bit of a twerp too, I will admit. I could hardly do anything right. But, as I mastered my powers, I started being able to kick butt with the best of them. But-” He paused, weighing the thought- “the others still thought of me as a silly little kid. They weren’t mean, just chiding. But not Mask and Chorus. They saw… potential in me. They pushed me to grow, and I did. I grew into a real hero, one even capable of sacrificing himself for the city, apparently,” he said proudly. Then his face fell. “I was heartbroken to learn Mask was gone when I got back. That nice Justice Man, and that hero Judgement, they had to tell me. Mask was like a father to me, and Chorus, she was like a big sister. But now… now I’m nearly alone again. There’s only really Karl left. But that’s time passing, isn’t it? And I should know,” he grinned cheekily.

Jude remained silent a moment. She remembered watching Justice Man break the news to him. Despite his age, his tears had shown he was still a kid under all those wrinkles.

“Do you know what happened to the others, Mr Shiner?” she asked tentatively.

“Not really,” Tod sighed. “Melody’s gone, Swoop’s gone, Mask is gone. I especially wish I knew what happened to him. Karl’s still around, of course, and you know about Burno, that traitor. But the others, not a clue. They just disappeared.”

Jude paused, feeling the paper in her pocket. The one with two names.

“Really, Mr Shiner? Because Fist Puncher gave me two addresses. One was apparently for Stop Watch?”

“Oh, Earnest? Yes, he’s still around,” Tod recalled from some corner of his mind. “I heard he’s holed up somewhere, but I’ve never gone to see him. Nothing against the man, but I heard he’s gone a little… strange in the years since, and he wasn’t a laugh riot to start with.”

“Strange how?”

* * *

Jude had to fly to get to her next destination. The address Fist Puncher had given her was out of town, far out, beyond the mountains that bordered Hero City, and then further still into the woods beyond that. It was less an address and more map coordinates. She finally found the little house, or at least that’s what she’d imagined she’d find. A mansion or a cottage or something in the middle of nowhere. That’s what was expected.

That wasn’t what she found.

It was a hexagon panelled dome, like something out of an environmental project. Solar panels lined it’s surface, with smaller domes for gardens branching off the big one, all of it rooted in the kind of cement which spoke to there being cellars upon cellars underneath. And there wasn’t another building for almost ten miles in any direction. Mr Earnest Tock, aka Stop Watch, had truly taken himself completely off the grid.

As Jude approached the dome, she kept her eyes open for traps. This kind of isolated lifestyle, survivalists and the like, could sometimes plant landmines. But there didn’t seem to be any. It was just a sealed dome in the middle of nowhere, with a doorbell. She walked up and rang it.

With a dull ding dong, a hiss followed and a screen opened in the door, one with a keyboard. The screen displayed one question: How long do you intend to stay? Approx.

Jude stared at it, thought, and typed THIRTY MINUTES. The computer buzzed, the keyboard folded away, and the screen became a thirty minute countdown, which immediately began turning. With another hiss of equalising pressures, the door opened and let her inside.

Stepping in, something was immediately off. Something in the air, a pressure, a dull weight. And the place did seem very dull. The room she’d entered made up part of the outer ring of the dome, with vaulted doors to go round, and old garden furniture to sit on. The walls were adorned with some very simple motel style art, the sort that with colour and shapes was essentially like white noise stuck in frames. But there was a blandness beyond even that. It screamed waiting room, with a couple of potted plants and a stack of terrible looking magazines on one chair. The one atop the pile was Grass Growers Weekly, looking to be about lawn care and little else. Luckily, there was another door heading further in, with another screen and another timer reflecting her thirty minutes. She wasn’t sure, but it felt like it was going a bit fast. It was already nearing twenty seven minutes.

“Heeeellllloooo…. theeeerrrreeee…. mmmmmyyyyyy….. nnneeeeeewwww….. viiiiiisssssiiiiiitoooooor,” a voice said, low and droning, like a draggingly slow record.

The computer on the wall lit up and, overtaking the terribly slow voice, words appeared on the screen accompanied by Text to Speech tones: “Hello there, my new visitor,” it said. “Please respond by typing. It’s faster.” Elsewhere, the slow voice on the tannoy kept going, just getting past the word “please”.

Jude typed back. “I’m a journalist, Judith Mint. Want to talk to Stop Watch,” she summarised.

There was a long silence after the droning voice caught up and died away. She watched the countdown all the while, which was already at twenty five minutes. She was sure it was running fast though. The voice started again.

“Coooooooommmmmeeeee iiiiiiiinnnn-”

“Come in then. I’d love to chat,” the screen finished first. As the slow voice reached the word Love, another door hissed open and Jude ventured further into the dome. Crossing the next threshold, she felt the air thicken, the dullness even sharper here. At the same moment, the voice sped up, “-loovee too chaaat.” It was almost coherent now.

The inner ring was near identical to the first, with yet more garden furniture and somehow blander frames. This time they had little slogans in them such as “Bless This Mess” or “In This House We-”.

Jude’s eyes got so bored she stopped reading. She especially blanched as she read “Live Laugh Love” in a twee font. Her mom had owned one and it always annoyed her. Behind the frames, the walls were painted an even duller colour, beige, and there was music, elevator muzak to be precise. And another timer. This one was flying, ten seconds every single second. Had time sped up or she slowed down? Her mind flashed to what Tod had told her.

“Way I heard it, Stop Watch was trying to achieve immortality.”

“Pardon?”

“You know about Stop Watch’s powers, right? What he can do?”

“Something about slowing down time by being boring right?”

“That’s the ticket. The more boring, the slower time moves, and vice versa if he was ever exciting. But Stop Watch, I heard he suddenly developed a fear of getting old, probably after what happened to Mask. He thought, if he could slow down time enough, then maybe he could find a way of stopping it altogether. Find a way of living forever.”

“By being really boring?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Whaaaaat briiiiings yoooouuuu heeerreeee?” the voice called.

“What brings you here?” the screen said faster.

Jude approached, watching the timer anxiously. “Wanted to interview you about League of Titans. Feelings on recent events too,” she typed.

With a hiss, the third door opened. Jude stepped through, and again the air became duller and more oppressive. The room didn’t even have twee images this time, it had framed photos of train stations…. Correction, hundreds of photos of the same train station, all from mildly different angles. And the music playing was a simple ten note loop, one that began to grate on the ears within two repetitions.

“Hold on a second,” the voice beckoned, this time practically up to speed. Jude looked at the clock, minutes now flying by every few seconds. She was past fifteen minutes already.

Another door hissed open, this time not to let her in, but to let someone else out. A man emerged dressed in a full-body leotard, with a hood that covered the top of his face, his suit decorated with a pocket watch logo across his chest. His visible skin was dark, if wrinkled, and a pair of deep brown eyes shone out from behind a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

“Stop Watch?” Judith guessed hurriedly. It was almost ten minutes left now.

“That would be me, ma’am,” he greeted, his voice deep, gravely and bland. “A pleasure to meet you. You said your name was Judith Mint?”

“Yep, that’s me. I’m a journalist,” she said, unable to stop watching the clock. Eight minutes left.

Stop Watch caught her gaze. “Oh, don’t worry, miss. Nothing bad’s going to happen when it hits zero. It’s just so you don’t lose track of time in here. You don’t have anything planned for later in the day, do you?”

Jude shook her head. It was mid-afternoon, so maybe she’d want to get some lunch, but-

“It’s easy to lose track of time in here, miss, and I should know. It is a truly wondrous feat I have achieved, not that anyone else seems to think so, but I think I’m close to living forever.”

This pulled Jude’s attention back. “What? Really?”

“Just a little bit more, and I might just stop time altogether,” he said gladly. “I did have to step out of the core though, you understand, to speak to you. Even the excitement from your arrival was enough to speed up the central chamber to match this ring. It’s almost a mile a minute in there now,” he said, wiping his brow beneath his hood.

Jude leaned around him to peer into the central chamber. As far as she could tell, there was a supply of food, all raw mashed vegetables, a very firm chair, facilities for a toilet, and a single wall with a can of paint beside it. The wall still looked wet with whitewash.

“I… see,” she said, in the fragile voice usually reserved for men on ledges. “How… long have you been trying?”

“Oh….” Stop Watch thought to himself. He did so for a long time, relatively speaking. Jude watched another five minutes tick by. “I think I’ve been trying for ten years now, real time. In here though, well, it’s been a mite longer.”

Jude could only stare. She noticed multiple layers of paint under the whitewash inside the chamber, bland colours peaking out. Ten years slowed down, literally watching paint dry…

“I’ll get to my point,” she said quickly, still eyeing the timer. It was approaching zero with haste. “I’m assuming you’ve heard the news concerning Chorus?”

“What news?” he asked. For a dreadful moment, Jude worried she might have to tell him. Then revelation crossed his face. “Oh! That she died, yes. Sorry, it’s just it was practically months ago for me. Must be mere days for you. But yes, someone did let me know, via text. It’s the best way to communicate through the time dilation.”

“Sure, that makes sense,” Jude agreed quickly. Nearby, the timer passed zero, and continued into the negative. She’d been here for thirty minutes already. “I wanted to know your thoughts on her being dead.” She heard her words and winced. Indelicate, if nothing else. The timer was chewing at her mind.

Stop Watch smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, I understand. Not everyone’s suited for the clock,” he said, taking another long moment to think. The thirty five minute mark rolled past. “Yes, Melody,” he continued gradually. “She was a good friend. We hadn’t spoken in years, probably almost two in real time. She tried to talk me out of all this, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Can you believe that? She thought I was daft!” he said incredulously.

“Wow. I can not believe it,” Jude lied badly. Forty minutes and counting. Her mind raced. “Wait,” she suddenly realised. “If time is slower in here than outside, doesn’t that mean you’re technically aging faster than the real world?”

“Nope. That’s the wonderful bit!” Stop Watch said gleefully, his voice still flat. “Turns out, however my powers function, it also stops me aging,” he explained, then seemed overcome with the need to be more accurate. “Actually, more specifically, I still age in sync with the outside world, but I don’t age in step with my slowed personal time in here. As such, I can do so much more with the time given! Isn’t that amazing?!”

“Like… watching paint dry?”

“It’s an under-appreciated art,” he said with unsettling sincerity.

“Right,” Jude nodded. Fifty minutes. “Alright, I think I have all I need. Oh!” she remembered through the low panic of the timer. “You wouldn’t happen to know where to find the rest of The League, would you? I’ve already met Fist Puncher, Laser Lad, and now you. Any ideas on the others?”

Stop Watch paused, tapping his lip thoughtfully. Fifty five minutes. Sixty. She’d been here for an hour. Her watch said ten minutes. She had to leave and soon. Finally, Stop Watch finished thinking.

“Don’t know about Swoop or Mask Man. Both of them disappeared some time ago. Always thought Mel knew about Mask, but could never be sure, honestly. Full of secrets, that one. But, you want to know about Indestructo, do you?”

“Please,” Jude said, trying to hurry him. It wasn’t working.

“Then I suggest you visit Cable Park. It’s just off Trout Avenue and Hammer Street. You’ll see what I mean when you get there.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s really appreciated.”

“No problem. Sure you don’t want to stay for tea?”

Sixty five minutes. “Sorry, no. I’ve got to be going. Thank you anyway,” she gabbled, and almost ran out of the building, back into normal air and the regular flow of time.

* * *

The park on Trout and Hammer was, simply to say, serene. A normal green park nestled between the buildings, with trees overshadowed by apartments. A set of climbing frames and a playground took up one corner, all positioned a noise buffering distance from the benches surrounding an ornamental pond. Children played loudly, adults took peaceful walks, and a few teens were loitering, apparently up to no good, or at least trying to look up to no good. In reality, they were probably discussing their homework or memes.

But, hidden in one corner and backed against an apartment building, was the statue of Indestructo, fifth hero of The League of Titans. Just the statue, mind you.

“Oh ha ha, Stop Watch,” Jude muttered, taking a seat and eating her sandwich in front of it.

The statue of Indestructo, forged from dark bronze, stood tall and brash, arms raised and flexed, strength visible for all to see. It was a fine statue too, showing Indestructo’s muscular physique, with even the fine detail of his costume’s colours discernible by differing patterns. Even so, Jude thought, more effort could have gone into the face. It looked a little silly, his features straining as if lifting something. But it hardly distracted. The plinth on which the statue stood was solid marble, and bore the legend: To Remember Him, And Remember Where We Left Him.

Jude sat, chewing her BLT, and watched the statue do nothing. Another proud memorial for the collection, she considered. As she watched, a memory surfaced from the filing of her mind. A school trip, decades ago, where her teacher, Mr Sniffle, had brought the class to see the statue. The only one of Indestructo in the whole city, or so he’d said. On the whole, there weren’t many statues o heroes; they didn’t tend to last against a thriving villain population, but this one remained. The teacher had rambled about its importance, its meaning, and how Indestructo was clearly a dichotomy between his greatness saving people, and also the property damage he caused. They’d had to write an essay about that. Jude never remembered the property damage, but Mr Sniffle likely wouldn’t have liked her as Judgement either.

Jude knew about Indestructo though; an interesting character with odd powers. He could turn his whole body, on a whim, into indestructible metal, but only on a timer. A non-negotiable timer, for better or for worse. The hero eventually learned to transform only parts of himself, usually his fists, but he was still locked to thirty seconds, unable to change back until those thirty seconds ended. It often left him waiting for his limbs to become organic again before moving on. She hadn’t uncovered his real name in her research, nor what had happened to him. He’d just quietly joined the list of MIA heroes, gone but not forgotten.

Jude stared up at the statue. It really was detailed and well made, if not for the face. There were wrinkles in the metal clothing, bronze veins standing out of his muscles. Hell, one of the shoes was even untied. It would have been wonderful, if not for the blasted face! Said face was keenly detailed, perfectly so, but it was just… bad. The lips stuck out, the eyes bulged, and the cheeks were inflated, all together giving the impression of someone straining not to crap their pants. Why someone would make a memorial look like that, she’d never know, but maybe it was the only photo they had to work off of. But you could use a little imagination, surely? Just make it nice?

Jude chewed her sandwich, reflecting on the odd image. Stop Watch sent her here, but why? Sure, it was the only statue of Indestructo, but would it really tell her where to find him? He’d been missing for years. What clues could an old statue of the man really tell her-

Oh…

The thought swept out of the back of her brain like an arctic freeze. She looked at the inscribed legend again, and then back at the statue. And back and forth, then stared the statue in the eye. The incredibly lifelike, stationary eye. Impossibly lifelike…

Jude got up, putting down her sandwich, and approached the statue. Her neck hair prickled, like the sculpture could spring to life and pounce at her. But it couldn’t be that, right? Looking around, she waited until she was sure no one was watching, then carefully grabbed the statue by a foot, and with her strength, lifted it a couple feet off the plinth.

There were no supports holding it in place, no rods built into the casting, no bars or rebar. And not one iota of damage to the statue itself, not even to attach it to the plinth. The damned thing even had patterns on the soles of its shoes, unblemished! Jude lowered the statue, and again waiting to ensure no voyeurs, she gripped the statue by the thigh and squeezed. She could crush solid iron into a ball with her bare hands, smash boulders, bend girders, no jars stayed shut in her house, but the bronze of the statue wouldn’t budge an inch.

It was like it was indestructible.

“Holy crap,” she whispered, looking up at the solid metal figure. The solid metal person! She read the legend yet again.

“To remember him, and to remember where we left him,” she recited.

Jude stepped away. She shivered. They knew where they’d left him alright, and he certainly hadn’t moved. But this was… grim, even by superhero standards. Sure, heroes often met surprising, sudden ends, but they weren’t usually displayed like this?!

Well, at least he had a nice view, she thought, if he was still in there.

Jude brushed the new horror away, trying not to imagine what it must have felt like, unbreakable metal creeping up her arms to freeze her-

No! She had another interview to get to, and Indestructo wasn’t going anywhere right now. He surely hadn’t gone anywhere since she was at school. She just hoped they washed the pigeon droppings off him regularly.

But now, she needed to move on. And she needed to prepare. Her next interview was going to be trouble, she was sure of it.

Because now, she needed to speak to one of the most hated men in Hero City.

* * *

“Mr Crisper?”

A very tanned old man froze mid way through unlocking his front door, his skin the colour of mahogany. The door he was opening belonged to a rather expensive looking house in a well off neighbourhood, not the place you’d often get mugged by a stranger. Even so, he drew two fingers up and a flame ignited at their tips, burning into a blowtorch. He braced himself and prepared to face the speaker, ready to burn-

“I’m not here to fight, Mr Crisper. I’m sorry about the ambush. I just happened to arrive when you got home. Sorry if I startled you. I’m a journalist. Judith Mint? You might have heard of me.”

The flame on Crisper’s fingers went out. He turned around.

“Yes, I know you,” he said, naturally adopting a sleazy smile, his wrinkled, baked skin creasing like old leather. “You’re the one who wrote the article about that Stone of Stevenson business, right?”

Jude blinked. “That was back when I was at college, Mr Crisper. And it was only in the college journal. It was only sold on campus,” she defended.

“Ah, but how could I forget, miss. It did implicate my buddy Everton something fierce. Caused us all sorts of trouble. You remember these things, even at my age. But perhaps I misjudged you, miss. I mean, you are prettier than I imagined. So, what can I do you for?” he grinned.

Jude tried to ignore the mental image of James Crisper doing her for anything, and pressed on. “Mr Crisper, if you’re willing, I’d like to interview you concerning the recent death of your former teammate, Ms Melody Planker, otherwise known as Chorus. I’m writing an article about The League of Titans and where they are now,” she explained officially.

“Ah, and you need to complete the set, right?” Crisper understood.

“It is a bit of an open secret that you used to be, or possibly still are, the supervillain known as The Torch. The same The Torch who was originally the superhero Burno, once upon a time. Your identity’s no secret, sir.”

“I’m too old for keeping secrets,” Crisper sighed. “Not that you could tell through my youthful complexion,” he added proudly, his tanned face creasing like a leather bag. “I don’t look a day over forty.”

“Of course, sir,” Jude said diplomatically, praying she wouldn’t look like that at forty. “So?”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds like fun. Please, come in,” Crisper said, opening his front door.

“Wait, really? I was expecting more of an argument from an active supervillain.”

Crisper shrugged. “What can I say? Not many people want to talk to me. Getting interviewed sounds like a hoot, especially by a pretty young thing like you." He winked. Jude repressed the urge to gag.

Mr Crisper led her inside, into what seemed to be, quintessentially, a very old person’s house. Antique furniture, old wood floors, older wood everything. Cabinets, walls, stairs, honestly, it looked like she’d walked into a scene from a classical drama, with how much varnished wood was on display… hopefully coated with something flame resistant. It was all wood, except for the sofa, which was flaming orange felt, and a metal sun-bed she could spy in the next room. It looked well used.

“Take a seat,” he offered a sofa. It was covered in plastic to resist stains.

“Thank you,” she accepted, squeaking into the seat. “You’re rather more polite than I was led to believe.”

“I try. Drink?” he offered.

Little alarm bells went off in Jude’s head. He was still a supervillain. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” He poured himself a scotch and sat down.

“So…” Jude began. “How do you feel concerning the recent death of Melody Planker?” she asked matter-of-factly.

“It’s a bitter pill,” Crisper answered, swirling his drink. There wasn’t any ice in it. “Sure, we weren’t friends, but she was an impressive figure of a woman. And I don’t just mean that physically.” He winked again.

Jude tried not to wretch. “So,” she said through the bile, “you still respected her? Even after betraying her years ago?”

“Pfft!” he almost sprayed his scotch. “Wow! Betrayal is such an ugly word,” he exclaimed, eyes alight with argument. Then something cooled in him. “…but an accurate one, in this case, I suppose,” he relented. “It was a long time ago now, but I just didn’t share The League’s ideals, is all. They thought that being a hero, saving the day and all that, that the reward was that glowing feeling inside of doing a good thing and saving lives. I, meanwhile, thought the reward should be, you know, a real reward, like money or something. They took umbrage when I started taking things from crime scenes, things no one would miss, like diamonds. I mean, the owner was dead, who would miss them? But eventually, we parted ways when I decided to go solo. But they didn’t take it well.”

“You mean when you burned down a bank and robbed it and started calling yourself The Torch?” Jude recalled.

“Yes, it was a good first solo show,” Crisper laughed. Then his features faltered, staring off into nothing. “It’s funny though, how they were so angry with me. I can even remember their faces, scowling, furious. I can still see Mel coming after me with that sword, and Swoop looked livid, especially after I scorched her wings. They just… they all looked so angry,” he said distantly, taking a long sip of his drink. Then he surfaced. “But what can I expect? They never did have proper vision to live large.”

“I see…” Jude thought. “Do you miss the rest of The League, Mr Crisper?” she asked carefully.

Crisper considered the question. “Sometimes. They were good people, good friends. Only family I ever knew. Supervillains certainly aren’t as chummy, but I don’t regret what I did, not for a second. I mean, I bought a boat with the money from that first bank heist!”

“A boat? You?” she almost laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” Crisper sighed. “A fire themed villain at sea. Did not think that through. But I don’t regret the choice… I do sort of miss the camaraderie though,” he conceded. “It was fun, having friends. Mel was like a mother to me, more than my real mother was anyway. But what could I have done? I’d already turned villain. There was no going back. Not ever.”

They both sat for a moment in a thinking silence. It was a silence that said “He definitely could have done”. He could have gone back and she’d have forgiven him, eventually, she surely would have. And they both knew it to be true. But it went unsaid.

“So, Mr Crisper?” Jude broke the silence.

“Call me James,” he grinned.

“I’m not going to do that,” she said honestly. “So, Mr Crisper, do you know what happened to the rest of The League? As a supervillain, I know your position is a little complicated, but I’ve still got one or two to locate. You wouldn’t happen to know where they are?”

Crisper looked at her curiously, before a look of smugness bloomed. “So you’ve even seen Indestructo, have you?”

Jude tried not to shiver. “Yes. That was… unpleasant.”

“It’s twisted,” he agreed happily. “Way I heard it, he was trying to boost his powers. He got his hands on Melody’s Sword of Songs, and it boosted his powers alright. No one’s sure if he’s still in there, waiting out some timer, or if he’s dead. Hell, he could pop back to being flesh any day now. That would be a thing.” He sipped his drink thoughtfully.

“How long’s he been like that?” Jude asked.

“Thirty years, at least. I’d left the team by then, but they still came and told me the news. And then they just left him there, in that park, for all to see. Creepy, is what that is.”

“I can’t argue. And what about the others?”

“Who do you have left?”

“Swoop and Mask Man. No one seems to know what happened to Mask Man,” she stated.

Crisper nodded. “Of course,” he said sombrely. “Mask was a leader to the team, right alongside Chorus, our very own tactician. Then, one Friday he went home and simply didn’t turn up again on Monday. It wasn’t too long after we lost Tod, but Tod at least came back eventually. But none of us knew anything about Mask’s home life to even guess. I certainly didn’t. Our best theory was something happened to him in his civilian life, mask off, so we never knew.” Crisper tapped his glass in thought. “Mel though, she was the only one who knew his real name, almost let it slip once, but she never said a thing to me. But I do know it wasn’t a supervillain that did him in. No one took him out, not officially anyway. Still, he was a good man. It was sad for me when he never came back. Deserved better.”

“And… what about Swoop?” Jude asked, pulling Crisper back from memory.

“Swoop?” he resurfaced, resuming his smile. “She was a tough old bird. Her only powers were a pair of wings and some military training, but she had the fire to take on armies. She certainly came after me enough times after I turned. I did feel a little bad, seeing how angry it made her. I mean, she didn’t deserve what I did, not really,” he admitted. “She was nice to me, back when we were a team. A good egg… and I hope she’s okay.”

“But do you know where she is?”

“I’ve not seen her in years, but…” Crisper looked at Jude curiously. “Hmm… You said you’ve met Fist Puncher already?”

“Yep. He gave me Stop Watch and Laser Lad’s addresses.”

Crisper smirked. “Trust me, he knows more than he’s told you. Him and Swoop, they were always close. If anyone knows what happened to her, it’s him.”

“I’ll look into it,” Jude nodded and stood to leave. “Thank you, Mr Crisper. It’s been… enlightening.”

“Feel free to visit,” he said smarmily. Jude tried not to gag again.

* * *

Fist Puncher, as it turned out, lived in a little apartment off a main road, the kind of street that still had washing lines hanging between the houses. You could almost picture kids running down the street rolling a hoop and playing Stick Ball, rather than lingering on corners on their phones. Even so, it had taken something to get the address.

Jude knocked on his door, Apartment 5B, and a woman answered. She had long, rust-brown hair, a tiny frame, and just looked old and tired. She scowled at Jude.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I’m here to see Karl?” Jude wondered if she’d got the wrong address.

“Well Karl’s not here-”

“Who is it, Marge?” Fist Puncher’s voice called from inside.

Marge frowned. “Some woman. Plump. Looks like trouble,” Marge assessed grimly. Jude returned a bitter look.

“Is her name Judith?” Fist Puncher called back.

Marge didn’t repeat the question. She just awaited an answer.

“It’s me, Mr Puncher. Judith Mint?” Jude called back.

Fist Puncher came to the door, dismissing Marge with a touch of her shoulder.

“Interesting to see you here, Miss Mint. I don’t exactly list my home address,” he said suspiciously.

Yes you do, in Sanctimony’s hero files, Jude thought to herself.

“I had to turn over a lot of stones to find you,” she said out loud.

“Well, come in. Take a seat,” he offered, closing the door behind her.

Jude sat, taking in the fragrant odours of a life in a small apartment. Lingering smells from dinner, some drying washing in the corner, whatever powders Fist Puncher used on his hands, as the orange light of evening poured in from outside.

“Who is she, Karl?” Marge asked, standing on guard behind the sofa.

“A journalist,” Karl answered, sitting across from Jude. “And, I suspect much more besides, am I right?” He smiled.

Jude froze, like a deer in the headlights.

“Oh please,” Fist Puncher chuckled. “You punched 307 on my machine and you weren’t even trying. And the only way you could be here is if you broke into Sanctimony’s files. Tell me, how much did you have to bribe Watch Man to let you in? He still runs security, right?”

“A pack of beers and thirty dollars I had in my pocket,” Jude confessed.

“Ha! If only the villains knew,” Fist Puncher laughed. “Then again, Watch Man wouldn’t be so lenient if he thought you meant harm, yes? He’s a good judge of character.”

“I hope so…” Jude said quietly. “So, you know-”

“I know you are a superhero, Miss Mint. I do not know which hero you are, so it is possible we have met through a mask, but here you are. And you have come here wishing to ask me something, something important I would hope. So, please, ask your questions.”

“Right,” Jude focused, catching up to the new thinking. “As I said before, I really am writing an article on The League, trying to work out where each of them went. You were very helpful this morning, Mr Puncher, but I’m still missing two. I’ve seen Tod, Stop Watch, and yes, I’ve seen Indestructo too.” She let an edge into her voice. “But I’m still looking for the last two, Swoop and Mask Man. But then James Crisper pointed me back in your direction, though I’m not sure why-”

Jude paused. Her eyes had been scanning Karl’s face for any signs of reaction, but he was placid as a rock. His partner however, or whoever the woman was, was twisting around herself like an old spring. She’d twitched when she mentioned Swoop and Mask Man. Whoever she was, she looked as old as Karl, but with dyed hair, a few wrinkles and a generally bedraggled look, like life had pulled her backwards through a hedge. She refused to look Jude in the face, even when she was looking at Karl, but she didn’t look afraid. An almost marshal stance, really-

“Hold on,” Jude cut herself off, staring at Marge. “I know you. I’ve seen your picture. You’re Margery Windless! You’re Swoop!” she realised. It wasn’t a direct comparison, age having done its work. Her hair was longer than her past military buzzcut, her wrinkles were deeper, and most prominently, or the inverse of prominence because it was something missing, she didn’t have any huge feathery wings. They were gone.

“I’m not Swoop anymore,” Marge said hollowly, walking away to the kitchenette.

“Miss Mint,” Fist Puncher put out a hand. “Margery has long since put that all behind her. She may not wish to speak on it.”

“But she was Swoop, right? With the guns, and the flying, and the… and the wings?” she asked, letting the point dangle in the conversation. Margery’s back was that of a regular person, not a plume to be seen. She’d had the wings since birth, Jude understood, but now…

“I had them removed,” Marge said, obviously reading her mind. “Had it done surgically, and it wasn’t easy, but you cannot imagine the havoc those things played with my life.”

Jude blinked in horror. “You… had them removed?”

“Yes,” Marge answered, sharp like a blade. “Karl says you’re a hero too, right? But you… you have a choice, sitting there maskless. You get to take the mask off at the end of the day. I didn’t have such a luxury. I loved those wings, at first, but they meant I was recognised everywhere I went. Couldn’t even go shopping without being stared at. And I wasn’t even popular enough that they all wanted autographs. I was just… I was just a freak.”

“Margery,” Karl snapped, rising to put a hand on her shoulder. “You were never a freak.”

“Yes, I was,” she returned flatly. She looked back to Jude. “It wasn’t an easy choice, but I made it. And I’d make it again if the bloody things ever grew back. I mean… I wasn’t joking about the problems. Dating was hell for me,” she said with a tiny scowl.

“Really? Some men must have liked them?” Jude said, struggling for anything to say.

“Oh, yes, but those were not men you wanted to be near. I mean, some men really liked them,” Marge shuddered. You could almost imagine feathers ruffling. “But I tried everything. Blind dates, speed dating, even online stuff back in its infancy. I just wanted someone to like me for me. But the first question every man asked was ‘What’s it like having wings?’ or ‘Can you fly me around the city with your wings?’ or ‘Can I have a feather as a souvenir?’ or some such. Urgh. No one cared about me, only the wings.”

“Yeah,” Jude sympathised. “I can fly, and even without wings you get those creepy messages, asking to be carried places. And the intimate acts in the air they describe…”

“Exactly!” Marge concurred. “Then, one day, I did manage to find a good guy. He was nice, Christopher his name was, and he actually seemed unbothered by the feathers,” she said happily, before her face fell like a lead weight. “That was until the topic of kids came up. He was so worried they’d have my wings too. He didn’t seem to want that,” she said simply.

“So… are you two?” Jude pointed between Marge and Karl.

“Oh, no,” Marge shook her head. “We just live together.”

“For the record, Miss Mint, I am gay and aromantic. Marge is just my gal pal,” he said, his German accent thickening around the unfamiliar words Gal Pal.

“So you just left it all behind? Being a hero?” Jude asked.

“I did,” Marge confirmed.

“And you didn’t tell the others?”

Marge’s features fell further. “They… wouldn’t have understood. They’d have tried to talk me out of it. Some days I wonder if it was right, but after losing Laser Lad and Burno, and then Mask, I just couldn’t do it anymore. There wasn’t much of a team left by that point. Only Karl and Melody knew, and even then Mel only knew second-hand. I did wish I could see her again, before she passed, but… she’d have tried to talk me round,” she trailed off.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Windless. And… do you know what happened to Mask Man?” Jude asked. “Crisper suspected he was killed off-duty?”

“That’s our best theory,” Marge confirmed. “Mel was the only one who knew him, behind the mask. She said it had been an accident, though I always read that to mean a mugging or something. Melody always put it on her own shoulders though. She was an inspiration, for those that could live up to it, but still it must have been hard for her, carrying the truth. One year, I asked her about Mask, and she told me he had a wife and a kid… emphasis on had. Presumably, whatever happened, they went with him,” she finished bleakly. “I didn’t ask anything else.”

Fist Puncher patted Marge’s shoulders, while Jude sat, not writing anything in her notebook. Swoop had cut off her wings to escape! Jude’s own flight was internal, somehow, but she couldn’t imagine what she’d personally sacrifice to stop being a hero… not that she wanted to stop.

This was not the fluff piece she had set out to write this morning.

“So,” Marge broke the silence, “you’ve got everything for your article, do you? Found all of us, more or less? You all ready to tell everyone?” she said bitterly.

“No,” Jude said distantly. “I don’t think I am.”

“What?” Marge and Karl said together.

“Miss Windless, I think I’m going to leave you out of the article,” Jude said, standing and putting away her notebook. “Amongst other things.”

“You are?” Marge stared in surprise.

“In fact, I’m realising this isn’t the article I want to write. What’s happened to The League is a sombre history, and I think it would do much more harm than good for people to learn the truth. And, as I’m a journalist, if I can’t write the truth then I shan’t write it. The people out there deserve to remember your legacies, your heroics, not learn the tragic cost you paid to save them all… at least, not until you’re ready to tell them yourselves. Or, if you want to tell them only after you’re gone, let them know posthumously. That’s an option.”

“Thank you,” Marge said softly. “I would much prefer that,” she added. “But what about you? You’re a hero too? It took me a long time to work out what I wanted. Do you really want to keep being a hero yourself, knowing all that you do now?”

Jude smiled. “I’ve put a lot of thought into that, Miss Windless, and yes, I do. I need to help this city. But I do appreciate the concern all the same. You have to ask yourself sometimes.”

“Yes, you do,” Marge agreed, as Karl began walking Jude to the door.

“So, Miss Mint, if you’re not writing about us, then what shall you be writing about?” he asked at the door.

“I have a few ideas. Maybe less a Where Are They Now and more of a Where Do We Go From Here,” she theorised.

Fist Puncher nodded. “Well, good luck whichever way you go. I look forward to reading it.”

“As I look forward to writing it,” Jude said, and departed off down the stairs.

* * *

Judith Mint was back home, sat at her kitchen table, the night outside rolling in. She stared at a blank page on her laptop. She had some vague ideas on how to write the article, but nothing would fit together or even deign to begin.

While she sat staring at the blank document, her girlfriend Tessa came in, put on the kettle, prepared a cup of tea, and popped it down beside her, then wordlessly kissed her on the cheek and left the room.

Jude smiled. All that from a second generation supervillain, the fearsome Madame Mechanism, the niece to Mr Intellitron, and the love of her life. But they had an understanding, and a happy home, and that was all that mattered.

Generations… The word lodged in Jude’s brain. Hmmm…

Her fingers typed.

Headline: The Future Of Hero City?

With the recent death of Ms Melody Planker, the legendary hero Chorus, the city is now forced to look ahead, to see what the future holds, especially as The League of Titans fades further, almost gone completely. Chorus, their leader, we grieve her loss. Their second in command, Mask Man, is still MIA. Laser Lad, returned through time, has been put out to pasture, enjoying a frankly well deserved retirement. Stop Watch has set heroics aside, dedicating his life to scientific endeavours, which while less exciting, may hopefully help mankind one day. Indestructo remains a mystery, though his statue can be found in one town park. We all know of the villainous betrayal of Burno turning into The Torch, though he confided to this writer that he does still think of The League as friends, even if he shows little remorse. And Swoop, as this journalist understands it, is enjoying a private and secluded retirement of her own, very much alive and well. The only member still fighting crime is the amazing Fist Puncher, who even today teaches young heroes how to achieve his self taught talent, punching people out with a single blow.

In these days of loss and hurting, what are the heroes of the city supposed to do? What are the people of Hero City supposed to do? What are we, the citizens of this great metropolis, supposed to do?

We do what we have always done. We pass the baton.

The greatest battle The League of Titans ever fought was against Dark Dragon, almost fifty years ago. But, just six months ago, a new team of heroes rose to face Dark Dragon again, for the fate of the city. This team headed by the great Justice Man, alongside Stealth Watcher, Omi and Cron, Judgement too, as well as the former villain Mr Intellitron and one of his many henchmen. This team, upon that same rooftop that Chorus did, saw the monster felled and all city lives saved.

But even now, a new generation awaits in the wings. Justice Man’s own daughter, Justice Girl, and Stealth Watcher II as a protégé to Stealth Watcher, though I understand the name is pending. Wandering Foot is already taking after the Wandering Fist with a modelling career, and Kid Dangerous has already been armed into becoming Deputy Dangerous, with many more heroes besides. The wheel continues to turn, and with it comes our hopes of a protected tomorrow from the forces that may cause us harm, with new heroes rising to achieve this every single day. There is a devotion to saving lives in this city that is simply admirable.

So no, the loss of Ms Planker has not left this city undefended. Instead, her legacy inspires yet more heroes to rise. And who knows? Perhaps in the fullness of time, a new hero will lift the Sword of Songs aloft, and reclaim the legacy of Chorus. Only time will tell.

But for now, we put our faith in the next generation. And to The League of Titans, we bid a fond farewell. This journalist thanks them, ladies and gentlemen of The League, for everything you’ve done and for your endless valour. We shall miss you. Thank you.

* * *

Jude waited before her boss’s desk, the man hurriedly reading the print. After a moment, his eyes a blur of movement, he said: “I love it! But it isn’t what I asked you for, so you’re fired.”

Jude stared for just a moment. “No I’m not,” she said firmly.

The boss blinked back. “No… you’re not,” he understood. “Still, it’s more than I was expecting. You really didn’t find all The League?”

“What can I say? Some of them were too well hidden,” she shrugged.

“Pfft. Well, out with the old, in with the new, that’s what I always say. And speaking of, your new article will blow the others out of the water. I hope so anyway. You at least worked out something about The League. This will destroy those rats over at the Greystoke Times.”

Jude frowned. The Times was a dinosaur of a newspaper. Not exactly their chief rival.

“But, this is good work, kid,” the boss said quickly. “You’ll get awards for it for sure.”

“Again, doubtful, but thank you.”

“Now, you can go, and send in whoever’s out there, would you? I think it might be someone from The Times. I want to rub their noses in this. Ah ha!”

“Yes, sir,” Jude turned and left. She passed a sour looking young woman who she signalled in, before more laughter could be heard in the office. Jude ignored it.

She looked at her copy of the article again and grinned. A new generation ahead, the old relics being left behind, and somewhere in the middle was her, a journalist and superhero.