Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (58 page)

"Why
should there always be this fear between us?" said the wolves to the sheep. 
"Those evil dogs have much to answer for.  They always bark whenever we
approach you and attack us before we have done anything wrong.  If you would
only dismiss them, there might soon be peace and reconciliation between
us."  The trusting sheep listened to them, and dismissed the dogs.  Moral
of the story?  Could be that the dogs were the problem; could be that the sheep
are doomed.  We’ll have to wait and see…

Wyatt sat stiffly on the stage at
the press conference, feeling like an idiot.  For one thing, Harlot INSISTED
that he had to wear the Consortium uniform full time now, until she could help
him design a new one.  Personally, he thought “help” was probably stretching
it.  His input involved nodding as one sketch after another was shoved under
his nose, and being made to watch tapes of how his old costumes looked in
battle.  But he could manage.  As long as it made her happy, he would be fine with
wearing a paper bag on his head.  The costumes and the rest of it just didn’t
matter.  That wasn’t what the job was about.

He took a sip of water and looked
out over the crowd.  Damn.  It had been a LONG time since he had to do any sort
of public relations.  Vaudeville had set this up though, and said that there
needed to be greater transparency if the public was going to accept them as the
heroes of the city, now.  Personally, he suspected that Cory was just using
that as an excuse to get on TV again.

Wyatt shook his head as he looked
over at the microphone stand.  The Consortium of Chaos insignia looked
absolutely
ridiculous
on the podium and its motto was even worse.  He
had asked Librarian what “
Flectere si nequeo superos, Achaeronta movebo”
meant,
and
she informed him that it was from Virgil's
Aeneid,
and
roughly translated as something like, “
If I cannot move Heaven, than I shall
raise Hell
.”  He’d really have to talk to the Commodore about redesigning
their coat of arms.  Maybe something more wholesome.  Less scary and
threatening.  An inspirational image and motto would probably be better for
their image.

For her part, Harlot seemed to be
having the absolute best time of her life.  She loved having everyone together
to celebrate their victory.  For the first time ever, her family had WON.  She
was chatting excitedly with Holly, a look of pride on her beautiful face.  Not
that Wyatt could really blame her.  The Consortium had come through for this
city.  It had cost them more than they could bear, but they did it anyway. 
They had had a private memorial service for their fallen members a week ago. 
It had been very nice; Troubadour even sang a very touching rendition of
Down
There by the Train,
a song about terrible sinners finding redemption at
last.  Well…it was SUPPOSED to have been a private ceremony, but it seemed like
most of the city turned up, anyway.  The procession to the cemetery had been a
couple miles long.  Wyatt…well, he thought that was a much better way to
remember fallen heroes.  They may not have always been perfect, but they were
there when it counted, and the city remembered that.  And vise versa.

They were currently joined on stage
by OCD, who was looking
extremely
uncomfortable, both with the fact that
he was surrounded by his former enemies, and by the attention he was receiving from
the press.  Poor guy.  Wyatt knew EXACTLY how he felt.  From what Wyatt was
able to gather, apparently no one in the Freedom Squad had ever bothered to
clue him into the “kill the city” plan, and Oz had been less than happy to hear
that he was expected to assist them.  One savage fight with some Squad members
which Oz barely survived later, and it looked like the Consortium had a very
reluctant new member.  He sat stiffly in his chair, staring at his glass of ice
water like it was filled with sewage or something.  The guy was so high strung.

Vaudeville was busy smoozing with
the press, having spent all night brainstorming fundraising ideas with Flimflam. 
Wyatt was MORE than happy to let them take lead on this stuff.  He had NEVER
liked talking to the press, and was MUCH happier simply sitting at the table
with Harlot.  Cory could have the fun of trying to smooth over the PR nightmare
that was Poacher.  The man had spent five minutes straight describing his
favorite crimes in
gruesome
detail to the horrified audience, and then
announced that as he was a hero now, he would of course be taking over the Honey
Badger Fan Club, and renaming it “The Poacher Pals.”  Membership fees would
double and it would only accept female membership.  Wyatt rolled his eyes as
Cory wove an elaborate web of lies about what Poacher had
really
meant
by that, and why Cynic seemed to be wearing a T-shirt riddled with bullet holes
and drenched in dried blood.

Wyatt raised his glass of ice water
to his companions.  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to propose a toast.” He
whispered to his new family. “To the Misfit Toys, both here and gone, and their
triumph over the Eloi, and to the utter joys of epicaricacy.”

Harlot laughed and everyone drank.

Wyatt glanced over as Tyrant
climbed onto the stage, his black leather armor polished to a sheen.  Even the
cage he kept Princess
what’s-her-face
in seemed to have been buffed, and
the gems at the top sparkled under the camera lights.  Personally, Wyatt
thought that it was simply in bad taste to take your hostage to the press
conference where you announced your intention to become a hero.  That was
starting off your career on the wrong foot.  It didn’t seem to bother Harlot
though, so Wyatt found that he simply didn’t give a shit either.  Hell, as long
as she was happy, that crown wearing egomaniac could throw his captive into a
bug zapper for all Wyatt cared.  Whatever. 

…Which come to think of it…probably
wasn’t something a hero should be THINKING either.  A hero would have probably
gone over there and freed the little ball of light by now.  He paused, thinking
the matter over, and then shrugged.  Meh.  Maybe tomorrow.  He was a hero, not
a saint.

Tyrant elbowed Vaudeville out the
way and braced his hands on either side of the podium, looming over the
audience gathered below.  “I am pleased to see that so many have come to this
ceremony in my honor.  This is but one
small
step in my strategy to
become the master of this insignificant dimension, and your unquestioned
overlord.  Once I topple your governments, and smash to dust your false
religious idols exposing their lies…”  His knuckles went white around the edges
of the podium, as he gripped it in fanatical zeal.  “…I will need some SMALL
level of rapport with my subjects, if only to ensure that they are accustomed
to being in the presence of someone as magnificent as myself.  It is good that
you are apparently so willingly open to this idea, as it will reduce the number
of peasants who will need to be culled from the herd come my
Day of Days
. 
While I would never lower myself to actually
thank
creatures as extraordinarily
insignificant and inconsequential as yourselves…for
anything
…I will say
that I don’t recall ever having been
less
displeased to be in the
company of so useless a group.  This petty honor you have bestowed on me shall
be but the first of what I’m
commanding
to be a long series of
better
accolades, which you will be required to shower upon me, pending such time as I
actually get around to destroying you completely.  Until then, I find myself
only
partially
nauseated from looking at you, and for that you should be
congratulated.  Remember: the past is dead, the present is doomed, and the
future is
MINE!
 Tremble, peasants, for your new
god
walks among
you.”  His eyes narrowed and he straightened back to his full height.  “I am now
done issuing you commands for the day.  You are no longer required to listen to
this presentation, as MY words are the only ones which matter.  You are dismissed.” 
He held up one of his hands, his fingers grasped towards his palm.
  “LONG
LIVE KASOS!  COWER BEFORE YOUR MASTER!
”

There was an awkward smattering of
applause and then silence. 

Someone coughed.

Harlot cleared her throat and
leaned down to the microphone in front of her on the table.  “Yeah…umm…Kass doesn’t
speak for
all
of us.”  She paused.  “…I did mention the part where we’re
all still trying to learn the ropes of the hero thing, right?  And how we’re far
more independent than you may be used to?”

At the end of the table,
The
Thief of Dreams
picked up his microphone with one frail looking hand and
held it to his mouth.  “
The Bastard Son of Sun and Sand sets the sky aflame…
The cock crows and wakens a dark and angry spirit …Darkness fails before the
dawn
.”  He rose from his seat suddenly and leaned over the table, his voice
growing panicked as his eyes darted back and forth over the crowd, and the
people assembled on stage.  “
Dawn will break…BREAK YOU ALL!

The audience was silent for a long
beat as they tried to figure out what the hell that meant.  Several reporters
began whispering to each other to double check that they had heard his seemingly
nonsensical words correctly.

Wyatt nodded.  “Yes, thank you
TOD.  I’m sure they appreciate the warning.”  He cleared his throat, trying to
sound like that was a planned statement.  “Questions?”

That blonde reporter…Connie
something or other…raised her hand, as Troubadour started playing
Gassenhauer
on the xylophone and drum.  The song was an odd choice for the occasion, but
somehow fit the mood.  It made you want to dance, and yet cry at the same time,
for some reason.  

The reporter yelled to be heard
over the tune, obviously not liking Gabe’s complete dismissal of the press.  “Question
for the panel; does this mean that the Consortium will be heroes full time,
now?”

Half of the people on the stage
instantly shouted “no” sounding almost appalled, the other half immediately
shouted “yes” sounding only too happy to find themselves on the other side of
the law for once. 

Tyrant simply threw his head back
and laughed manically.  Even Princess
what’s-her-face
seemed to find
humor in the question…or perhaps in what she guessed awaited the world.

Another reporter raised his hand.  “What
do you stand for?  Politically, I mean?  Republican?  Democrat?  Anarchist?”

Poacher frowned in confusion.  “Anarchist? 
You mean like the devil and shit?”

Marian shook her head.  “You are
thinking of the
Antichrist
.  He is asking about your political party.”

Poacher nodded.  “Ah, okay.  I’m a
Leo.”  Apparently, he was under the impression that it meant his Zodiac sign.

“Anarchy?”  Cynic scoffed.  “Yeah,
that’ll work.”  He leaned forward.  “Listen dude, the only people I trust LESS
than the government, are my fellow citizens.  The very LAST goddamn thing I
want to do, is let you idiots run around doing whatever you want to me, okay? 
Laws are there to keep you assholes from doing asshole-y things to me. 
I’m
allowed to live without laws, because I’m NOT an asshole, and I only do asshole
things TO assholes.  See how that works?”  His eyes narrowed in sudden
suspicion.  “Why the
fuck
do you want to know this, anyway?  Huh?”  His
eyes scanned the crowd warily.  “You trying to find out our weaknesses or
something?”

Megaris simply reached forward and
crushed the microphone with one hand, and then wandered disinterestedly from
the stage, stopping only briefly to stare at a reporter’s hairpiece like it had
said something interesting.

Tyrant reached for his own microphone,
again.  “The two party system is an antiqued relic that is no longer needed
under my new regime.  I have
streamlined
the political process and made
it more efficient.  I believe in a one party system; I believe in
ME!
” 
He listened to his prisoner for a moment.  “Oh, what utter nonsense! Who would
follow YOU!?!  PRISONERS don’t GET peasants of their own, they get…”  Tingle.  “Stop
wasting my new subjects’ time, they aren’t done groveling yet!”  Tingle.  “No,
you
WERE
a Princess, but your life belongs to ME now, highness! 
ME!!! 
They are MY peasants!  GET YOUR OWN!
”  He cackled with maniacal laughter
again.

OCD patiently waited until Tyrant
stopped laughing, and then calmly leaned closer to the microphone.  “I’m a
Republican.”

Another reporter yelled to be heard
over Tyrant and his hostage’s bickering as it suddenly flared up again, and
focused on Wyatt.  “What do you thing we can expect from the Consortium in the
future, Fabricator?”

Harlot wandered across the stage
and sat down closer to Gabe to listen, as his song switched to
Sympathy for
the Devil
by the Rolling Stones, an even MORE inappropriate song for this
occasion.  She dangled one of her legs off the stage and looked over her
shoulder at Wyatt.  She blew him a kiss.  Gabe tossed her a maraca and she did
her best to keep up with him, laughing merrily. 

Wyatt smiled and focused on the
reporter’s question again.  He shrugged.  “Honestly?  I have no idea.  Yesterday’s
villains are today’s heroes, ma’am.  But who
tomorrow’s
heroes will be is
anyone’s guess.  We’ll have to wait and see, I suppose.  …We’ll have to wait
and see.”

Continued
in the next installment of the Consortium of Chaos series:

“
The Son of Sun
and Sand
”

Tyrant’s Day of Day arrives!  Will he be able to finish off
the Consortium, or will he be too distracted by trying to help Princess Rayn
save her Kingdom?

The Consortium of Chaos: because it’s easier to save the
world if you take it over first.