The Perfectionist, Part 3
Changing the world.
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Welcome to Olympus City, where super-powers, physics-defying tech, and unearthly creatures are all possible now. Human nature, however, remains unchanged.
No one is born a perfect superhero, but a few strive to live up to the ideal anyway.
Previously: Carey showed Miranda a machine that can reshape the world into one like his own—a world full of pure good and pure evil, with good always prevailing. Miranda fears it’s not that simple.
Part 3
The island acquired an emerald tint as the gauntlets radiated their power.
“Step away from the console,” Carey said. “I’d rather not have to hurt you. Let me save your world.”
Miranda couldn’t beat him. He had the edge in skill and experience, more than enough to compensate for her greater strength and speed. She did, however, possess one key advantage—the knowledge that not every dispute needed to be settled with fisticuffs.
She spun around, hugged the console, and pulled up. Her arms slid off a force field, which she could’ve sworn wasn’t there a second ago. Where the hell did that come from?
Steel hands gripped her cape, tugged, and flung her away.
She crashed headfirst into the sand, on the very beach where she had watched a man die. The robot Destructo had blasted a hole clean through Officer Hoskins. Despite all her power, Miranda stood right there like a useless idiot while life slipped away and the man died before he even hit the ground. And then the robot targeted her.
Hoskins never would have died in a world like Carey’s.
Why am I trying to stop this?
Carey tapped the control console, absorbed in his work, focused on his goal.
Peyton.
Her little sister loved superheroes ever since she witnessed Fantastic Man stopping a purse snatcher. He inspired Peyton. He didn’t need to be perfect to inspire her. Ultra Woman inspired her, too, and Miranda was intimately aware of Ultra Woman’s numerous imperfections.
The world-altering ray gun would affect Peyton as well. Miranda wasn’t sure how. She knew one thing, though: She wouldn’t change a thing about the kid.
The ground quaked as the machine hummed. A twirling vortex of white light appeared within the barrel of the weapon. An unconventional weapon, sure, but the giant ray gun was indeed a weapon.
Miranda shot herself at it—a human-sized bullet to wreck an oversized gun. Fast as she was, though, she was not faster than light, not faster than lasers. An emerald blast walloped her, and the machine continued charging itself up, preparing to reshape humanity.
Before she could regain her bearings, another tight beam punched her in the gut. Cold steel belted her in the face, grabbed her arms, and swung her around and around, obliterating all sense of direction until Carey pitched her at the island’s best target—a crater, the same crater she had involuntarily helped carve out back in the beginning.
Now the crater deepened further as she crashed into the dense, barren soil. The ground still felt warm, or maybe that was just her. It was much hotter last time. Destructo’s scarlet lasers had blasted straight down, drilling into her, pushing her toward Hell. She had very nearly arrived.
The crater turned blinding green as Carey blasted away. The beams widened, enveloping her. The lasers were all force, pure concussive pressure, no heat. A small mercy.
All she had to do was stay down, let him change the world. She had tried, and maybe he did know best. What was she fighting for anyway? To not become flawless and pure?
No … Peyton …
He couldn’t steal her mind. Or Bianca’s. Or their parents’. Or anyone else’s. Or the minds of anyone else’s Peyton or Bianca or Mom or Dad.
Carey intensified the pressure, as if to flatten her. He would flatten the world.
Miranda pushed against the relentless force, climbed to her feet. Through the emerald glare, she found Carey’s silhouetted head and searched for his eyes. She glimpsed the pupils as false daylight returned to the crater. The eyes chilled her and dredged up an unpleasant association.
Carey punched her, a sloppy but strong cross that nailed her in the forehead. He followed with a hook across her face, then another from the other gauntlet. Punch, punch, punch, again, again, again. The metallic assault would have pulped and decapitated nearly anyone else by now, but Miranda kept her head even as her thoughts swam. She looked up at that gleaming armor, and a single thought tumbled out of her mouth.
“Doctor Hades.”
Carey froze. His cocked fist hung there. “What?”
“Rumors you heard about a new Doctor Hades,” Miranda said, pausing to spit out blood, “are you sure they weren’t just about you?”
“I’m nothing like him.” He blasted a tree that had fallen two years ago. “Nothing!”
A few counterarguments sprang to mind. Miranda abstained from any debate. People to save.
She dashed over to the machine. It hadn’t discharged yet, but the humming had grown cacophonous. Or maybe that was just her battered brain rattling around her skull.
Incandescent steam wafted out of the rear compartment. It was bolted shut. She ripped the grate off and found a luminescent orb. Looked important, so she yanked it out.
The humming ceased as the machine went dark. The orb, however, persisted in its soft white glow. It fit within her palm. Perfect carrying size.
“Miranda!” Carey bellowed. “Give that to me.”
“Catch me if you can, Doctor Hades.”
She didn’t wait for his reaction. She took off and headed toward the one person who might be able to talk sense into him.
*****
No time for doorbells. No time for manners. Miranda kicked down the door and marched into Hephaestus Enterprises.
“Sibyl?” she shouted, floating to peek over the dividers. “Got a problem!”
Sibyl called back, said she was by the ship. Miranda flew over and found the scientist seated at a folding table next to the interdimensional vessel. Sibyl looked up from her laptop as Miranda dropped down with less grace than usual.
“Was that noise you? Did you break in?” Sibyl asked. “Is that blood?”
“Yes. Sorry. Short on time.”
“I see. Go on.”
Miranda spilled out Carey’s plan, rambling in her haste. It wasn’t until she finished that she noticed the horror etched across Sibyl’s face—faint, restrained, but definitely present. It was present even before Miranda started talking.
“Sibyl?”
Sibyl clenched her teeth, as if to dam the words, but the scientist couldn’t deny her findings.
“He’s not the Golden Gladiator.”
To Be Concluded Next Week!