program the rest of you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that even if you manage to get out alive, you ’ ll probably be emotionally fucked,” he says . “You’re a girl,” he says, putting a finger in her chest. “There will be men who try to rape you.”
“Don’t be gross.”
“Don’t be a kid.”
“I am a kid!”
“Not once you put a costume on and go out there in the big bad world to try to stop big bad people from doing big bad things,” he says. “Life’s unfair to women. That might not be just, but that’s a fact. If I get caught by, I don’t know, Miss Terry, and she ties me up and wants to force herself on me, let’s be honest, most people aren’t going to see what the big deal is. But it’s not just the capes who might try something with you. You’re a kid and you’re a girl so even the biggest piece of lowlife gang banger is going to think he’s tougher than you.”
“I didn’t think —”
“You’re going to fuck up somewhere along the line, too, and that’s going to be way worse than waking up tied to a chair in Murdermatologist’s office with your tits out and a camera pointed at you. How many people are you willing to let be dead because of you, because that’s gonna happen. It happens to all of us. I saved 27 school kids and one bus driver from drowning in a school bus over in Bossun Lake. Two kids didn’t make it. Do you think I spend more time thinking about the 27 or the two?”
Colbie mumbles, “I didn’t know.”
“These are the things we live with that no one else can help us get through. You can see a shrink, of course, but they don’t know. Not even Therapist Z, who used to be a damn hero. The dead ones stay with you. All the time.”
“How do you cope?” she asks.
Jason leads her back to his room, where he picks up his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder. The walk has given him time to think about how he’s going to answer that question, and he decides on brutal honesty. “I snort a shit ton of cocaine,” he finally says, “and I fuck every attractive woman I can put my dick in, and while I’m floating on powder or watching Winsome Wings’ tits bounce in front of my face, those two drowned kids, the five burned victims from Kolt Tower, the twenty dock workers from Fisherman’s Wharf, and all the rest of the people who aren’t alive anymore because I wasn’t good enough do me a favor and leave me the fuck alone for an hour or three.”
“I don’t even.”
“You thought Francis wanted you to talk to me so you’d have someone to look up to?” Jason asks. “Wrong. He wanted you to talk to me so you could see who not to be.”
“I don’t think —”
“You’re a 15-year old kid and I’m going to leave you alone in this big house and whatever that hologram was just so I can go to the moon and visit Duplication Girl,” he says, stepping past her into the hallway. “Think about that,” he says, and leaves.
26
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
“You look tense.”
“Been a long day, and it’s gonna get worse,” Kid Rapscallion grumbles. “Gotta get into the Stockade and see Five of Clubs. Or the Penthouse Man. Or whatever the fuck his official classified name is.”
“Vincent,” Duplication Girl says. “Vincent Vogelsung.”
He decides he hates that the Revolutionaries make him put on his uniform while inside their moon base, but when you’re a group of the most powerful superheroes around, you get to make the rules. Maybe that’s what he hates. Not the costume but the fact that they get to make the rules. It’s always them who get to make the rules. The goddamn Revos and old timers like Rapscallion.
Pricks.
Even the women.
“Hey sourpuss, I have just the thing,” Duplication Girl smiles as she snaps her fingers, and suddenly there are two of her standing there, exact copies down to the bright orange uniform with the exploding black star and “DG” logo and the impish, orange pixie
“What does that mean?”
“It means that even if you manage to get out alive, you ’ ll probably be emotionally fucked,” he says . “You’re a girl,” he says, putting a finger in her chest. “There will be men who try to rape you.”
“Don’t be gross.”
“Don’t be a kid.”
“I am a kid!”
“Not once you put a costume on and go out there in the big bad world to try to stop big bad people from doing big bad things,” he says. “Life’s unfair to women. That might not be just, but that’s a fact. If I get caught by, I don’t know, Miss Terry, and she ties me up and wants to force herself on me, let’s be honest, most people aren’t going to see what the big deal is. But it’s not just the capes who might try something with you. You’re a kid and you’re a girl so even the biggest piece of lowlife gang banger is going to think he’s tougher than you.”
“I didn’t think —”
“You’re going to fuck up somewhere along the line, too, and that’s going to be way worse than waking up tied to a chair in Murdermatologist’s office with your tits out and a camera pointed at you. How many people are you willing to let be dead because of you, because that’s gonna happen. It happens to all of us. I saved 27 school kids and one bus driver from drowning in a school bus over in Bossun Lake. Two kids didn’t make it. Do you think I spend more time thinking about the 27 or the two?”
Colbie mumbles, “I didn’t know.”
“These are the things we live with that no one else can help us get through. You can see a shrink, of course, but they don’t know. Not even Therapist Z, who used to be a damn hero. The dead ones stay with you. All the time.”
“How do you cope?” she asks.
Jason leads her back to his room, where he picks up his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder. The walk has given him time to think about how he’s going to answer that question, and he decides on brutal honesty. “I snort a shit ton of cocaine,” he finally says, “and I fuck every attractive woman I can put my dick in, and while I’m floating on powder or watching Winsome Wings’ tits bounce in front of my face, those two drowned kids, the five burned victims from Kolt Tower, the twenty dock workers from Fisherman’s Wharf, and all the rest of the people who aren’t alive anymore because I wasn’t good enough do me a favor and leave me the fuck alone for an hour or three.”
“I don’t even.”
“You thought Francis wanted you to talk to me so you’d have someone to look up to?” Jason asks. “Wrong. He wanted you to talk to me so you could see who not to be.”
“I don’t think —”
“You’re a 15-year old kid and I’m going to leave you alone in this big house and whatever that hologram was just so I can go to the moon and visit Duplication Girl,” he says, stepping past her into the hallway. “Think about that,” he says, and leaves.
26
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
“You look tense.”
“Been a long day, and it’s gonna get worse,” Kid Rapscallion grumbles. “Gotta get into the Stockade and see Five of Clubs. Or the Penthouse Man. Or whatever the fuck his official classified name is.”
“Vincent,” Duplication Girl says. “Vincent Vogelsung.”
He decides he hates that the Revolutionaries make him put on his uniform while inside their moon base, but when you’re a group of the most powerful superheroes around, you get to make the rules. Maybe that’s what he hates. Not the costume but the fact that they get to make the rules. It’s always them who get to make the rules. The goddamn Revos and old timers like Rapscallion.
Pricks.
Even the women.
“Hey sourpuss, I have just the thing,” Duplication Girl smiles as she snaps her fingers, and suddenly there are two of her standing there, exact copies down to the bright orange uniform with the exploding black star and “DG” logo and the impish, orange pixie
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