Now Hiring Heroes

Jorge looked up from the envelope to watch the large, fat snow as it fell, sticking on the grass like a blanket but melting on contact with the asphalt. The first snow of the year was like so many others before. It wouldn’t last past noon. With the temperature just above freezing and an expected high ten degrees warmer, it would rain all afternoon.

His one-cup coffee maker finished its cycle, and he took the cup to the small breakfast nook. On a normal day, he’d get into uniform, pour his coffee into a travel mug and drink it on his way to the station. The days hadn’t been normal in a while.

After what he’d done, he’d had no luck finding a job with any police force in the region. As much as he hated the idea of leaving the Pacific Northwest, he began considering returning home to Puerto Rico to find work.

The envelope in his hand pulled his attention. The logo of the International League of Heroes above the words, “Now Hiring Heroes” adorned the envelope, and he thought it might be asking for donations.

Inside, though, was a letter, and Jorge knew it wasn’t boiler-plate, as there were too many details about his search for a department that would hire him. He read the whole thing, turned it over to see if there was something he was missing before he read it again.

Not only was the ILH offering him a job, but the letter also made it sound like they wanted a new super. He’d read a conspiracy theory about a “super serum” that was being used to create superheroes and supervillains but brushed it off as nonsense on the level of the faked moon landing theory.

The letter included strict language about non-disclosure, with the caveat that calling the number meant he agreed to those terms.

Whatever, he thought, I’m not finding any other work, and the pay’s good. I can at least see what the job is. Probably a desk assignment, but better than nothing.

He dialed the number which was answered on the first ring…by StarElla, one of the most powerful supers and current head of the ILH. He recognized her voice and slight Irish lilt from all the media she’d been in. “Good morning, Jorge,” she said. “I’m glad you decided to call. I’m StarElla and I look forward to meeting you.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to talk to you directly, but…uh…I was wondering what kind of job you could want me for? I mean, I’m a cop, and that’s all I’ve ever done. I guess I could work a desk or do detective work—”

She cut him off. “We want you to join the ILH as one of the supers.”

“You…what? I’m not…I’m just a guy. No supers in my family at all.”

“Then you would be the first in your family.”

“But…supers are born, not made. Unless you’re saying….”

StarElla laughed. “Some are born, but only if their parents are both supers, and even then, it’s one-in-four odds. The rest are made, and you have the qualities we’re looking for in a new member.”

“You mean the super serum is real?!”

“Not the way people seem to think.” She took a deep breath on the other end. “Jorge, if you do this, your entire life will change.”

“Will I have to move?”

“Just a couple months for the procedure and training. We could use a super in your neck of the woods, as you Americans say.”

“You know why I can’t find work as a cop anymore, right?”

“I do. No one else in the League knows the details.”

“Maybe I am a traitor, though. I mean, I didn’t even hesitate when Internal Affairs asked for my help. Yeah, I helped IA put away a dozen dirty cops, but now I’m the bad guy.”

“That’s exactly why I want you. Jorge, as privileged as the information I’ve already given you is, I have something even more secret to share with you…if you want to help the League, that is.”

Jorge sighed. “You don’t even have to say it. I know what you’re hinting at, and if bad cops are dangerous, bad supers in the League are a thousand times worse. I’ll help.”

#

The lab hidden deep under the Alps near Airolo, Switzerland looked like something out of a movie…except for all the medical equipment that would outfit an Intensive Care unit in any hospital in the world.

StarElla was there to walk him through the procedure. She explained it all to him as the doctor attached the EKG, pulse oximeter, and BP monitors to the machines that beeped and hummed.

“The doctor’s already examined your DNA and determined the best changes to make. She’ll inject the nano bots that will edit the DNA in all your cells, beginning in your bone marrow and working out from there. After that, it’s a blast of EMP to shut down the bots, and a few weeks of training while your body clears them out.”

“So, is this how supervillains are made, too?”

“Unfortunately, most of them are made from black market bots that aren’t tuned for an individual’s DNA. There’s an even chance of getting a superpower or ending up disabled, disfigured, or even dead.”

“Fifty-fifty odds? Why take the chance?”

“Desperation, usually.”

“What happens if they don’t have an EMP device to shut down the bots?”

“Usually, they reach a point where the body begins to destroy them faster than they can replicate, but it can be months of illness before they’re cleared. In more rare cases, they don’t stop editing. Remember The Blob?”

“The guy that was a collection of limbs and mouths on a ten-foot ball of flesh? The one that ate his way through a jail wall, and ate four guards while he was at it?”

“That’s the one. She kept mutating, growing, and the constant hunger and pain drove her mad…that and the seven partial brains besides her original all getting and sending signals contradicting each other. The court found her unfit to stand trial, but sided with her sister when she requested euthanasia.”

“Yeesh.”

The injection into the marrow of both femurs was excruciating, even with the anesthetics he’d been shot up with. He sucked air through his teeth and did his best not to complain.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said as she forced the fluid into his bones, “but you have to be awake for this, and there’s no way to give you a spinal since we need to move you around.”

“I get it, doc,” he squeezed out through gritted teeth. “I’m Jorge, what’s your name? Come here often?”

She laughed. “I’m Doctor Singh, but you can call me Annie, it’s short for Ankita.”

“Nice to meet you, Annie. Is…is my butt supposed to feel like it’s burning?”

“Referred pain. You’ll be getting plenty of that over the next few hours while the bots even out. We’ll try to help out as much as we can.” She removed the long needles from his thighs and rolled a cart with a screen over his legs and adjusted the bed to a seated position.

“How long does it usually take for the powers to show up?” he asked.

“Anywhere from six to seventy-eight hours, so far. If you like, you can watch the spread of the bots on the monitor,” she said, pointing at the screen she was watching.

Jorge shook his head. Now that the injections were done, the pain had settled into something like a bad case of sciatica. “I think I’d rather focus on something other than my body right now.”

The pain began to ramp up. It felt like all his bones were on fire. When he could no longer speak from the pain, the doctor injected something into his IV. “This will take the edge off, and should put you right to sleep,” she said.

He felt the cooled liquid from the injection enter his vein, but nothing happened to change how he felt. “How—how long does it take?”

“It should be instant.” She went back and forth between the monitor and his vitals, before injecting a second, and then third dose. When he continued to watch her, she said, “You should be comatose from that much.”

“The pain in my bones seems to be settling down,” he said, glad of the reprieve. He felt as though all his muscles were on fire, and his joints felt as though they’d been sprained. “I feel like I’m being run over by a truck now.”

Ankita nodded to someone he couldn’t see, and they wheeled him into another room where she pulled off all the EKG leads and pads. “Let me help you onto the table. We need to do an MRI right away.”

Moving was difficult, but he made it to the MRI and the bed he’d been on was wheeled out. The machine was claustrophobic, with a steady thumping noise as the table moved him deeper and deeper within, capturing a full-body scan.

The thumping stopped and the table extended back out. Jorge struggled to sit up and look at himself. He hadn’t been in bad shape, but he’d been in better shape when he was younger. Now, though, it seemed he had almost no body fat, instead boasting well-defined, whippy muscle.

“Whoa, feeling dizzy,” he said.

The doctor helped him back to his bed, replaced the EKG pads and leads, and wheeled him back into the other room. “With all the work your body’s doing, your blood sugar is probably low.” She pricked his finger and squeezed. “Huh.” She did it again. Then a third time, before looking at her watch.

“What’s wrong?”

“Forty-three minutes. That’s the new low time for powers to first appear. I thought so from the MRI, but this confirms it,” she said, holding his finger.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t get a blood drop from you, because you heal too fast. Matches what I saw in the scan. Your bones look like they’ve suffered a million hairline fractures and healed back. That means, of course, your bones are a great deal denser than they were. Seems like your body took the bots to be injuries, and with the edited DNA went to work repairing.”

“So, are they all gone, now?” he asked. Aside from the dizzy spell, he was feeling fine, if a little weak.

“It seems so, but we’re still going to EMP you.” She set a tray with orange juice and sandwiches in his lap. “You should eat this on the way.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The EMP room contained a fine-mesh wire cage. His bed was rolled inside, and a single thump sound echoed through the room. “That’s the fastest we’ve ever processed a super,” Ankita said. “Still hungry?”

After another meal, this one far larger than any he’d eaten before, Jorge felt fine and was released from the doctor’s care. She told him how to get to StarElla’s office and saw him out the door.

#

The flight on the private jet home was mostly silent. Jorge had settled into a 30,000 calorie per day diet just to keep up. He’d spent six weeks learning the ins and outs of the League, and of detective work. He’d met a few of the “big names” in the League, and many regional heroes he’d never heard of. Like them, he would be stationed at his home, and available for calls in the region.

StarElla woke from her nap and stretched, hard enough for her bioluminescence from which she drew her name to shimmer through her clothes. She turned her seat around to face him. “I know we haven’t talked about it at all since that first call, but it’s time to fill you in.”

“I’m all ears, boss.”

“The League knows El Culebro, the new regional super with enhanced strength, durability, and super-regeneration. They don’t know that Jorge Colón, the man behind the mask, is the start of the League’s own Internal Affairs department.

“I want a full investigation of all the main members, and everyone that works at League headquarters, starting with me and Doctor Singh — the only other person besides you I know isn’t part of what’s going on. I’ll have plenty of assignments and trainings for you to attend that will cover your activities coming and going to HQ.”

“What, exactly, am I looking for?”

“Anything that would compromise a member; make them prone to do something they wouldn’t normally do for money.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s really going on,” Jorge said. “If you continue to not say, I might think you have something to hide.”

The smile that crossed her face was sad. “Four times out of the last nine that I was away from Airolo for more than a day there has been a theft of nanobots from the vault. The last time an EMP generator was stolen as well.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Enough to build an army.”

Jorge sighed. “I guess it’s too late to back out now.”

“Until your cover is blown,” StarElla said, “you’re the best bet I’ve got. It helps that you blew through the process so fast — it has everyone convinced that’s why I brought you in and that you’re my new pet project.”

“Until my cover is blown, I’ll be El Culebro, StarElla’s pet project. After that, though, things might get rough.”

“I’ll have your back when they do, Jorge. And when it’s just us, call me Sinead.”

“Oh. I—I thought your name was Ella.”

She smiled. “So does most everyone else, except the inner circle. Keep it under your hat, though.”

Jorge stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoody and felt something there. He pulled it out to see envelope that had set him on this journey. “Now Hiring Heroes,” it still said.

He showed her the envelope and said, “I’m here. Now, I just need to live up to it.”