I gasp against the smoke that seared my lungs like thousands of pins and needles, maneuvering through the tendrils of grey that warped my surroundings into unrecognizable splotches of lifeless and dying color. My mask, protecting my identity, did little to filter the smoke invading my mouth and nostrils like live coals, and I curse my late father for not adding the feature. The man pulled people from burning buildings on a daily basis and that thought never occurred to him? I stumble through an array of jumbled cars, scanning the inside for any people.
"Is anyone out there?"
I scream through my mask, my eyes darting uselessly through my surroundings, pleading internally to gain super-sight. That's when I hear it. Screaming, multiple high pitched sounds that ring against the roar of fire that skitted against the concrete like vibrant serpents. I glare around, and my eyes lock onto a bus overturned, debris of concrete having battered is exterior and a massive piece of debris the size of a horse pierces the front end of the vehicle, which was laying like a wounded beast among the mounds of burning wreckage. My legs in powerful strides have me at the bus, and clamoring onto its body in barely a beat, and I peer through the windows. Children are trapped inside the vehicle, their faces blurry and morphed in the horror of their screams. Two adults climb though the bus, attempting to break out windows but failing. Once they spot me, they immediately shout:
"HELP US! THERE ARE CHILDREN IN HERE."
I quickly found the door, but it was jammed. Now this situation fits my powers. Super-sight has nothing on a pair of biceps the size of boulders. I wrench the doors open and off their hinges as if I were snapping a glow stick. The adults, muttering jumbled and panicked words of gratitude I barely heard handed me children and I gently plopped them onto the cement, and then assisted the adults getting out themselves. One adult, a male, hurriedly huddled and counted the kids, while his female companion suddenly embraced me.
"Th-thank you, Iron Knight. Thank you."
I nod, that being the only expression she could see.
"Get out of here!"
I shout, and they do not hesitate to comply. They are lost to the tendrils of grey. I searched the area for more potentially wounded or trapped, and found nothing. The fires were growing stronger, and I left the scene before the police and fire department could arrive. Another average morning, I thought smiling to myself on a job well done, until I realized in a haze of panic that now I'm going to be late for work, and my boss is going to kill me.
. . .
I wake up, groaning, rolling off my arm which prickled numbly from a night of sleeping on it. I peeled open an eye sealed up with morning crust, and grabbed at my phone with the coordination of a wasted person that I usually have when I've just woken up. The white digital numbers of my phone's clock read eight thirty, a half hour before my usual alarm. I groan against my bed sheets once again for good measure, wanting to sleep a little more, but my body is already stubbornly waking up. Up and at em'. I roll out of bed, slip on a pair of gym shorts over my briefs, and pad barefoot into the hall of my apartment. Markus should be getting up around now. I peered into his room, and his bed was empty, the sheets and comforter a tangled mess, like usual. I continued my sleepy eyed journey to the kitchen and living room, which also stood empty and cold. I shrug at my foster brother and roommate's absence, and take quickly to the fridge, whose contents I surveyed distastefully, finding only a couple cans of beer, stale OJ, and a pitcher of water. This is what happens when two guys live together, proper shopping never gets done. I pull out a couple slices of bread, and settle for a plain ass breakfast of toast and put the kettle on to brew some coffee. Nothing else to eat in here. On one of the wobbly stools that once belonged to my foster father at the kitchen counter, I plant my ass and flick on morning news that flashed to a sharp life on the small flatscreen haphazardly balanced on the fridge, a kitchen TV being an afterthought when we moved in.
There was your average blabber of weather and politics, until a segment of BREAKING NEWS interrupts the mundane topics. The screen is cast into a view overlooking a city street, cast in a behemoth of smoldering smoke and fire.
"This morning, an unforeseen explosion at a research facility rained down debris over passing traffic only meters away. There were only a few wounded, and two casualties."
An almost too pretty anchor spoke in a stern and serious tone. My eyes widen at the screen.
"There is not much intel on the explosion from the authorities at this time, but speculation indicates the possibility of a terrorist attack."
The screen cuts to two adults, one male, and one female, standing among a huddle of small children clutching to them for dear life.
"We were just driving-"
The wide eyed female sputtered.
"To our field trip to the green houses tours east of town. I blink and the world is shaking, and a massive thing smashes into the front of the bus- and- ki-killed our bus driver- Dan."
Her eyes glisten with tears that streak down her face, darkening as it collects the dust and grime powdered onto her mousy features.
"That's when- Iron Knight- pulls us out of the bus. I thought we would die- burn to death."
I choke on my toast. It should be a normal occurrence, Iron Knight making the news, even this early in the morning. It tends to happen when your foster brother is a superhero. I watch the screen more attentively than before. There was no footage of the rescue, and the screen flips back to the anchor, who continues with useless and nonspecific details.
A research facility?
I think to myself, unable to ignore an apprehension in my gut. There are several around the city, including the one that I worked for. Terrorists?
I'm broke out of my thoughts as the door of the apartment swings open, followed by heavy footsteps. I swing on the stool and find a panting Markus standing in the doorway. His face was grey with dust, sticking to his jet black hair and thin groomed beard. He was dressed in a black shirt that was taut of his wide frame, and jeans. He was clutching his Iron Knight leather and spandex suit in his fists.
I'm off the stool and barking concerns at him like a mother in seconds.
"Jesus Mark- are you okay? You're not hurt are you?"
Markus grins in the way that always seemed to wash my apprehension away like oil pastel from a pair of artist hands.
"Those kids had a hell of a morning."
He quips, and coughs in his forearm. I scan him for injury, and I find nothing. I know I'm babying my 23 year old foster brother, but can't help it. I pat his shirt, as if that would do anything to shake the grime stuck stubbornly to it.
"Your ass is going to be late for work."
I say, and that seems to shock him back into action.
"Shit-"
He hisses, running towards the bathroom, he was stripping nearly naked before he even got to the door.
"Gotta shower! I'm going to get fired if I'm late any more!"
I chuckle, watching him go. The shower squelches, the old pipes humming, and he steps into the shower. I head back to my toast, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Markus baritone voice hollars from the shower.
"Hey- I-uh- bought some milk and shit. Buuuut I tossed it down when I saw the explosion. Don't know where it went. Sorry bro!"
I chuckle into my steaming mug. The man just pulled kids out of a burning bus, and now he's continuing onto his day as if nothing happened. Even though being a person with superhuman strength, wearing spandex and saving people's lives is the least normal thing, he somehow manages to make it normal. Me, in comparison, I'm on an entirely different plane of normal, expert level. Even down to my name: Atticus Fortier. I was adopted by Markus' dad when I was a baby, when Johnathon Fortier lost his wife to cancer. He wanted, though, to have two kids. That's where I came along, and he had to give me a name straight out of a list of grandpa names or To Kill A Mockingbird. Markus never let me hear the end of my name growing up, so Johnathon took pity on my suffering and adopted a pet name for me: Atty. Atticus Fortier, a name that was further proof to show how mundane I was compared to my foster family: a pair of sneakers that was dropped into a crate of clown shoes. Jonathan Fortier had super-strength, and supported the city under the vigilante alias of: Iron Knight, and for years he kept it a secret from his two sons. That was until Markus inherited his father's abilities. Around puberty, Markus' powers appeared to him as a growth spurt like no other. He grew out of his clothes within days, gaining hard and round muscle even when he didn't lift a single weight or did any sports.
Jonathan knew then that he could no longer keep up his secret, and explained to my foster brother and I his alter-ego's existence, and his and his son's powers. To my Markus and I, it was the news of a lifetime. I was in a family of superheroes. Going to school with a newly superpowered human, though, I took on the role of superhuman wingman almost immediately. Markus is a passionate guy, protective, and is a bit of an airhead. He got into fights frequently when we were in middle school, but when his powers appeared, it got much worse. He seemed to get a superhero's equivalence to roid rage.
Jonathan trained Markus, eager to have him to be a pair of unstoppable heroes in the city. That was, until five years ago. A villain organization killed dad, leaving Markus and I as orphans. On the hospital bed, his dying wish to Markus was to stop his pursuit of vigilantism, to protect me. Markus dropped out of high school his senior year, and went into the workforce to pay the bills for the two of us, so we wouldn't be separated. We have raised each other ever since. He now works for a construction company that pays pretty damn well, where he can put his body to good use. He never faltered in his pursuit of being a hero, though. He took up the name Iron Knight, and it was as if the hero's presence never left or was replaced.
