There were three of them. I'd been following them, keeping to the shadows, since they left the club. I watched them from an alley across the street as they transacted their business, packages and money changing hands, cigarettes glowing and lighting up their faces. They were big brutes, dressed in leather vests and chaps. Cobra Lords. Westside street trash. Bottom feeders. I waited in the darkness while they talked to another man—well-dressed, standing beside a big expensive car. I took a notepad from my jacket and jotted down the license plate number. Here was the big fish. Follow the money, as they say. The deal wrapped up and they all went their separate ways. I did too, heading back to my cheap apartment. It was 2 AM. As I came up the stairs, I heard raised voices, a man and a woman. They were standing in the hall, arguing. I couldn't make out what it was about, nor did I particularly care. "You want to keep it down?" I said, interrupting their exchange with my high, squeaky voice. "People are trying to sleep." They both stopped and stared down at me, as they were roughly twice my height. "What the hell is that?" the man asked, eyes wide and blinking like a frog's. "He's one of those animal people," the woman said. "You know, the ones created by some mad scientist on an island in the Pacific. I saw something about them on TV." "We prefer the term 'manimals,'" I said. "I didn't know any of you lived in Millennium City," she said. I smirked up at her, folding my arms. "Reconsidering your lease?" "This freaking city," the man muttered in disgust, turning and walking past me and down the stairs. I shrugged and walked past the woman toward the door to my apartment, fishing the key out of my pocket. I noted that she was brown-haired and brown-eyed, dressed in a waitress's uniform, and rather pretty. "What's your name?" the woman asked as I opened my door. "Alvin," I replied. She blinked, then grinned at me. "Like the chipmunk?" I sighed. "Yes, like the chipmunk. Dr. Moreau made me to look like him and named me after him." She looked at me in puzzlement. "Why would someone do that?" "Probably because they're crazy," I said. She nodded, then smiled. "So, do Simon and Theodore live with you?" "No," I replied, without emotion. "They're dead." Her smile evaporated. "Oh. I'm sorry." "Anything else you want to know?" I asked, sounding cross to my own ears. She shook her head. "No." "Fine." I turned to enter my apartment, then stopped and looked back at her. "What's your name?" I asked. "Julie Martins," she replied. "Good night, Julie Martins," I said. I went inside, shut the door, stripped off my clothes, and went to bed.
I came home the next night beaten and bloody. I'd traced the car to a downtown address—ritzy apartment building—and had been staking it out, only to suddenly have a trio of Cobra Lords show up. Apparently my inquiries had tripped someone's red flag, someone who didn't want me sticking my prodigious snout into their business. They beat that snout until it bled, but I gave as good as I got, and then some. In the end, all three of them were laid out in the alley beside the building, while I limped home, smiling through the red haze at the thought of them having to explain to their boss how they got their asses handed to them by a three-foot chipmunk. I staggered into my apartment building, leaning against the wall, clutching my side. It felt as if it was on fire. One of the Cobra Lords had kicked me good and hard in the ribs. My muzzle was aflame with pain and smeared with blood. My T-shirt was drenched with the stuff, not all of it mine. I fumbled for my key, dropped it, and sank down against the door, panting and gritting my teeth. It hurt to breathe. Julie came in, saw me, and shrieked. She ran over and knelt beside me. "Alvin, what happened to you?" "Got in a fight," I said through clenched teeth. She picked up my key, opened the door for me, and then gently helped me to my feet. I limped into my apartment, supported by Julie, and flopped down on the sagging couch with a groan. "You should go to an emergency room," she said, concern on her pretty face. I shook my head. "I'll be okay. I just need to rest." "At least let me put some iodine on that cut over your eye," she said. She got up and ran to her apartment, coming back a minute later with a small brown bottle in her hand and a box of bandages. I'd managed to slip off my jacket, grinding my teeth through the pain, and was lying sprawled on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling. As she dabbed the stinging liquid over my eye, I wrinkled my muzzle and accidentally swallowed some of my own blood. "How did this happen?" she asked as she worked. "Some punks decided they didn't like manimals being in their town." "You should call the police," she said. "This is a hate crime." I laughed, and it hurt a lot. "I didn't know that applied to manimals too." "I don't see why not. You're a person, aren't you?" "More or less." She helped me get my shirt off, and I heard her sharp intake of breath as she saw the many scars that showed through the fine, tan fur covering my body. "Oh my God!" she said. "Where did you get all those scars?" "On Monster Island," I replied. "Moreau used to make us fight each other, to the death." "Why?" she asked, eyes wide. "To see who was strongest." Julie shook her head. "That's barbaric!" I shrugged. "We weren't people to him. Just experiments." I noticed her looking me over, fascinated. Maybe she was surprised by my muscles. Despite my size, I'm pretty buff. A year in Moreau's fight pits had toughened me, as those Cobra Lords had found out tonight. She sat back on the couch, gazing at me as my chest rose and fell. "Is there anything else I can get you?" "There's a bottle of whiskey on the bookshelf," I said, pointing with one stubby finger. The gesture didn't cause me any pain, thankfully. With a nod, she went and got the whiskey, poured me a glass, and held it to my mouth while I drank. It burned my throat, but it helped numb the pain a bit. I noticed that the window was open, the curtains blowing in the breeze. It hadn't been before. I started to tense up, expecting trouble, when a low, rasping voice issued forth from a shadowy corner of my apartment. "Lose the girl," it said. Julie and I both sat up, staring at the dark figure who had spoken. He was a big man, dressed in gray-and-black body armor with a golden bird emblem on his chest, a cape with a feathered trailing edge hanging down his back. His boots were tipped with bird-like claws. Beneath the hood draped around his head, his face was covered by a full mask, leaving not an inch of skin exposed. I recognized him immediately. He was Nighthawk, formerly one of the Champions, the world's greatest superteam. Some people considered him a hero; others accused him of being a dangerous vigilante. "What are you—" I started to say. Nighthawk stepped forward into the moonlight coming through the window. "I said, lose the girl." I looked over at Julie. She was trembling with fear, staring at the apparition looming before us. "Maybe you'd better go," I said. She looked at me with concern on her face. "Will you be all right?" I nodded. "Thanks for being my angel of mercy." She got up and went to the door, keeping her eyes on Nighthawk the whole time until she closed it behind her. "That wasn't very nice," I said. "She was only trying to help." "What I have to say isn't for her ears," said Nighthawk. "Look, I don't know who you—" "Shut up!" he snapped, cutting me off again. "You're an idiot! An arrogant, incompetent amateur! You stumble into danger without a clue, without a plan. You've been lucky so far, but luck runs out. Sooner or later you're going to get yourself killed." I smirked. "Nice of you to care what happens to a manimal." He took a step closer. "Do you think I care what you look like? Don't you know how precious your life is? How precious any life is? How dare you risk it so foolishly?" That hit me where I lived. I remembered my brothers, buried on Monster Island. "What do you want from me?" I asked. He produced a card from a pouch on his belt and handed it to me. "Be at this address tomorrow at noon." I looked at it. It was a Westside address. "Why?" I asked. "Because if you're going to do this, you might as well do it right. At the very least, you'll live a little longer." He turned and walked toward the window. "You can use the door, you know," I said. He ignored me, leaped out the window, and was gone. I got up and went to the window, leaning out. There was no sign of him. I went into the bathroom, undressed, and took a shower to wash the blood out of my fur, watching it pool around my feet. Then I dabbed myself dry and went to bed.
I woke up the next morning with my body feeling like one big bruise. Every movement hurt. I lay there for a while, music playing in my head. Music and voices I remembered. My eyes started to well with tears. Gingerly, I climbed out of bed and made my way across the battlefield of discarded clothes on the floor. Reaching the bathroom, I climbed up on the stool and looked at my face in the mirror. A bleary-eyed, buck-toothed, snouted, tan-furred mess stared back at me. Even through the fur I could see the ugly purple blotches decorating its face. "What are you doing here?" I asked it. "Why do you even exist?" I doused my face with water, swallowed some aspirin, and went to the kitchen to fix myself a breakfast of cold cereal and orange juice. Outside my window, the city's day was well underway, cars honking, sirens blaring. And though I lived in the middle of it, I wasn't a part of it, not really, not being what I was and looking the way I did. I was an alien, a monster, a freak. Something people stopped and stared at when I walked down the street. I had no business being here, but where else should I be? The hellhole that was Monster Island? No, I couldn't go back there, back to all those memories. I sighed and got dressed, and then left my apartment, heading out to the address on the card. Half an hour later I was standing in front of the door to a martial arts dojo a few blocks from Chinatown, one of those cheap strip mall kinds of things. I took the card out of my jacket pocket and checked the address to make sure I had it right. I did. I went up to the door and pulled at it. It was unlocked. I opened it and went inside. There were no lights on in the lobby, and there was nobody around. For all I could tell, the place was deserted. That made me suspicious—and cautious. I slowly moved into a dark hallway, flicking a light switch on the wall. Nothing happened. Scowling, I made my way through the growing darkness, deeper into the dojo. The hall opened up into a large room, illuminated only by some dirty yellow skylights that cast dull glowing rectangles on the floor. The rest of the room was in shadow. I looked around and called a hello to anyone who might be listening. There was no response save my own echo. Was this some kind of a test, to see if I was dumb enough to walk into a trap? I sighed and took off my jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair, and waited, listening. Several minutes passed, and then I heard something moving in the shadows to my left. The fur on the back of my neck stood up. I began slowly moving in that direction, keeping alert for any sound that might betray an impending attack, my knees bent, my arms spread. I couldn't see a damn thing this far from the skylights, but I consoled myself that neither could whoever else was in here with me. The attack came from my right, a slight rustling of cloth tipping me off. I dropped low and blindly swung my fist in that direction. I didn't hit anything, but I heard the sound of feet scraping on the floor as my opponent spun aside. I whirled in that direction and lunged, launching myself at where I thought they were. My arm caught something, and I felt a hand on my shoulder as I was seized and thrown across the floor, skidding along on my backside. I jumped to my feet, trying to locate my opponent, but they had gone into stealth mode again. I decided I'd had enough of fumbling around in the dark. I backed up until I was standing under one of the skylights. From here I could be seen clearly, but my opponent couldn't approach without being seen too. "You might as well show yourself," I said to the darkness. "I'm not moving." "Why did you come here?" a voice asked from the darkness. It was a woman's voice. "I was invited," I replied. "I know you were invited. That doesn't answer my question. What do you seek to gain?" "I was told I was wanting." Soft laughter. "Is that what you were told?" "In so many words, yes." "And you think that by coming here you might better yourself?" "I don't know. Look, are you going to come out where I can see you? I'm tired of talking to nothing." A figure detached itself from the shadows and stepped out into the light before me. It was a woman dressed in a female version of Nighthawk's costume. "Lady Nighthawk, I presume?" I asked. I'd heard that Nighthawk had a female counterpart, though whether she was his wife, his sister, his daughter, or just someone he worked with was a topic of ongoing public speculation. She bowed. "And you're the little manimal who specializes in getting beaten up." I growled. "You forgot to mention that I flattened all three of those Cobra Lords last night." "Cheap hoodlums. When you can flatten them without them laying a finger on you, then you'll have something to be proud of." "Is that what you're going to teach me? How to fight better?" "For starters. You're very aggressive. That's good. But you're also reckless. I could have easily planted a knife in your back." I shrugged. "I have anger issues." "Because of your brothers. You have to let go of that." I stared at her. "How do you know about that?" "That's another part of what you have to learn: how to find out things." "Okay," I said, "let's get started." "First you have to show me how much you want it." "How do I do that?" I asked. "Keep me from leaving this room." She turned and began walking toward the back door. I was caught by surprise, but only for a second. I ran toward her, arms outstretched, trying to grab her cape. She turned and hurled a bola at me. It came spinning through the air and wrapped around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. I fell on my face, my snout mashing against the floor, as she stood over me imperiously, hands on hips. "You should have anticipated that," she said, shaking her head. I grunted, squirming free of the ropes, and glared up at her. I couldn't tell if she was smiling or not, but it didn't matter. The mere thought of her smirking at me behind that mask filled me with rage. I snatched up the bola and, holding it by one end, swung it at her legs, wrapping the other end around them, and yanked hard. With a cry of surprise, she toppled to the floor. Then I pounced, slamming my fists into her armored costume, snarling savagely. I got in a few solid hits before she threw me on my back, pinning me to the floor. I kneed her in the gut, and from her grunt of pain I could tell it hurt, which felt good to know. She held me down by my wrists, her body pressed down against mine, and all I could do was squirm on my back. "You're trapped," she said, breathing hard through her mask. I grinned up at her. "Stopped you from leaving, though." "You did, at that." She let go of me and stood up. "I think you have potential, Alvin. Raw and untempered, but potential all the same. There's much work to be done, however. Meet me here again tomorrow and I'll teach you something." "Is this what you do?" I asked, "Train the new recruits? Is Nighthawk too good for that?" "Nighthawk is busy with other things. Don't overestimate your importance. He'll be by if he thinks he's needed." I shrugged. "I'm not complaining. Your voice is a lot more pleasant to listen to than his." Again, I couldn't tell if that got a smile out of her or not. "In the meantime," she said, "practice with this." She handed me a crescent-shaped throwing blade. They were one of Nighthawk's trademark weapons. "You're going to have to get good with it. Very good." I balanced the thing on my finger. It was smooth, and heavy, and hard, and bright. I liked it immediately. "Thank—" I began, looking up from it, but realized I was alone. She had vanished. I shook my head. Something else I needed to learn how to do.
So, if this were a movie, this would be the part where they cut to a training montage showing Lady Nighthawk teaching me all the tricks of her trade, and me failing at first and then slowly getting better. Trust me, those things are a lot more grueling to do than they are to watch. Six hours, six days a week, before I went off to my job as a bouncer at a local bar. It was worth it, though, as I learned how to use my body in ways I'd never imagined before—gymnastics, for instance, which I'd known nothing about previously, and things like lockpicking, moving silently, observation and memorization, criminology, and, of course, fighting. I already knew how to fight, thanks to my time on Monster Island, but she took that and built on it, showing me new moves and ways of defeating an opponent that compensated for my small size. She taught me how to use those bolas and the throwing blades. Those were fun. Pretty soon I was able to nail a target accurately from fifty feet away nearly every time. "Very good," she said approvingly as I went to collect the blades I'd just hurled at the bullseye across the room. "You have a definite talent with those." "Thanks," I said, plucking the blades out of the target and clinking them together in my hands. "I have to ask, though, wouldn't a gun be more effective?" "That depends on what you want to do," she replied. "If you want to kill someone, then yes, a gun would be more effective. But our goal is to incapacitate rather than kill. So we employ less-lethal measures." I nodded. "Nighthawk already gave me the 'all life is precious' speech." "You don't agree?" "Let's just say it's a bit late for me in that regard. I lost count of how many opponents I killed in the fight pits." She regarded me silently for a moment. "You did what you had to do to survive," she said finally. "Nobody can fault you for that. If anyone is to blame, it's the beast who created you." I scowled. "Moreau. How I'd love to have gotten my hands around his scrawny neck. Pity he's already dead." "Wouldn't that be like killing your own father?" she asked. "Hah! He was never a father to us. We were experiments, nothing more. He brought three characters from a stupid cartoon to life through genetic engineering, just to see if he could. He even gave Simon weak eyes so he'd need to wear glasses." She shook her head. "Madness." "Then, when we ceased to amuse him, he discarded us, tossed us into an environment we were completely unprepared for. He didn't need us alive. He'd proved he was a god who could create anything. Maybe he just wanted to see how long we'd last—three small, defenseless creatures surrounded by savage, bestial manimals." "Alvin," she said, "you're bleeding." I looked down at my hand. I'd been clutching the throwing blade so hard it had cut into my skin. "Shit." She took some gauze and antiseptic from her belt and knelt beside me, treating my self-inflicted wound. "It's not bad. The cut is shallow." She raised her masked face to meet my eyes. "You were right. You do have anger issues." "Can you blame me?" I asked. "No. Betrayal is a terrible thing. So is loss. I've been trying to help you channel your anger into something productive, but you may need more help than I can give." "Are you saying I should see a shrink?" I could just imagine myself lying on a couch, pouring my heart out to some guy with a beard and glasses. "Actually, I had something else in mind. Let's knock off early today. I'll see you tomorrow." As I walked home, the throbbing pain in my hand kept reminding me of what I'd said, that I owed my existence to a madman's whim, an egomaniac who had then abandoned my brothers and me to our fates. The thought of it made me clench my jaw with rage. "Moreau, you bastard," I muttered under my breath. "Would it have killed you to have loved us just a little?" I arrived back at my apartment and was just opening the door when Julie came into the hall from the door to the street. I could see she'd been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her mascara was running. "Are you okay?" I asked. Stupid question. Yes, of course she was okay. Everyone cries when they're fine. She shook her head, wiping her nose with her hand. "It's nothing." Yeah, I was sure buying that. "Do you want to talk about it?" "No, not really." Her eyes went to my bandaged hand. "What happened to you?" I glanced down at my hand, then back at her. "Oh. I cut myself. No big deal." She nodded. "I've been meaning to ask—what did Nighthawk want with you?" "He, uh, wanted to ask me some questions." "Oh? Did it have anything to do with those people who beat you up?" "Yeah. He's looking into that." "Good. People like that should be behind bars." "I couldn't agree more." She turned to her door and opened it. "Thank you," I said. She looked at me, surprised. "For what?" "For caring." She smiled. "People should care about each other. See ya." She closed the door behind her. I stood there in the hall for a minute, staring at her closed door, and then went into my own apartment and flopped down on the couch. I had a few hours before I had to go to work, and nothing much to do. I thought about Julie. I wondered if she was still with that guy she'd been arguing with the first night I'd seen her, and if she might be willing to consider a more exotic alternative. No, that was a pipe dream. There was no reason to think she'd be interested in me that way just because she'd shown me a little sympathy when I'd come home hurt and covered in blood. Stop fooling yourself, Alvin. I went to the kitchen, tossed a TV dinner in the oven, and went into the bathroom to change the dressing on my hand. When I came out, there was a ghost in my living room. Well, not a ghost, exactly. A spirit form. I recognized her immediately, with her green dress and cape and long, flowing red hair. It was Witchcraft, one of the Champions, floating above the carpet between the couch and the television set. "Don't be afraid," she said, in a hollow, unearthly voice. "I'm not," I said. "I am a bit surprised, though. What are you doing here?" "Lady Nighthawk asked me to come. She said I might be able to help you." "Help me with what?" "To ease your pain." I looked down at my hand. "Actually, it hardly hurts at all anymore." She shook her head. "I'm not talking about wounds of the flesh. Come closer, Alvin." I went up to her, and she placed an ethereal hand on my forehead, closing her eyes. She winced. "So much pain in such a small body," she said. "Anger, resentment, guilt, loneliness." I ground my teeth. "Guilt? What have I got to feel guilty about?" "For all the lives you've taken, and the two you couldn't save." I swallowed. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea." "Only by facing your demons can you tame them. Sit down on the couch." Shivering, I did so, and she floated before me in a lotus position. A glowing ball of light appeared between us. "Relax your body. Breathe deeply and slowly. Clear your mind. And look into the light." I gazed into the light and felt a soothing, warm sensation flowing through me. Suddenly, I felt at peace with myself in a way I hadn't for a long time. All my inner turmoil seemed to melt away, leaving nothing but bliss. I wondered if I was having a religious experience. I no longer felt my own body. I was floating in a sea of consciousness, Witchcraft beside me, both of us in spirit form now. "Where are we?" I asked, my voice sounding strange to my ears. "It has many names," Witchcraft replied. "It's the place in the heart and soul where peace and happiness dwell. Everyone can reach it, but some become so mired in pain and sorrow that they stop trying." "Like me?" I asked pensively. "You weren't there yet, but you were on your way." "The last time I felt like this was when I was singing . . ." "With your brothers. I know." I put my arms around her and hugged her. "Thank you for this." She smiled and stroked my hair. "You're quite welcome, Alvin." And suddenly we were back in my living room, and I was sitting on my couch, Witchcraft's spirit form floating before me. I sniffed the air. The oven was beeping. I got up, went to the kitchen, and took my TV dinner out. It hadn't burned yet. I set it down to cool and went back to my living room. "Feeling better?" Witchcraft asked me. I nodded. "Just knowing I can still feel that way makes such a difference." "Of course it does." "Can . . . can we go there again sometime?" I asked. She smiled. "You don't need my help. You can go there yourself, now that you know the way." "Again, thank you." "Again, you're welcome. I must go now. Good luck with your training, Alvin." And with that she faded out, leaving me alone in my living room. I sat down and ate my TV dinner. It tasted wonderful. Oh, and my hand was healed, too.
After Witchcraft's visit, I threw myself into my training with a vigor and a dedication that surprised even me. Maybe I felt I had something to prove to the world, or maybe I didn't want to be just another manimal victim wallowing in self-pity. Either way, I worked hard under Lady Nighthawk's tutelage, hard enough that after a week she told me she'd decided to step up my training. Apparently, I'd exceeded expectations. That was a real shot in the arm for my self-esteem. And when I got home from training, tired and aching, I'd compose myself on the couch and will myself to go to that happy place Witchcraft had showed me. I'd lie there for an hour or so, filled with bliss and contentment, and sometimes I felt as if I wasn't alone—as if my brothers were there with me, somehow. Sometimes I'd catch myself quietly singing, which was something I hadn't done for a long time. I didn't see much of Julie during this time, but I thought about her a lot, particularly when I was lying alone in my bed at night. I thought about how nice it would be to have her there with me. Hey, a guy can dream, right? I know, I was being selfish and juvenile. After all, I hardly knew the girl, plus there was the whole cross-species thing. But I couldn't help it. She was the closest thing I had to a friend in this city. I thought about asking her out, but I couldn't work up the courage to make that great walk across the hall and actually do it. Maybe I was afraid she'd laugh at me. Hilarious, huh? I could face armed thugs, but not rejection. So we went on living our separate lives, fifty feet apart but in different worlds. One day, when Lady Nighthawk and I were taking a break after sparring atop a jungle gym she'd set up in the dojo, sitting on the floor drinking from water bottles, I broached a topic that had been percolating in my brain for some time. "Lady Nighthawk?" "Yes, Alvin?" "Can I ask you a purely hypothetical question?" She turned her masked face to me. "If you don't mind a purely theoretical answer." "Would you ever consider going out with me?" "I don't date my students, Alvin." "I did say it was hypothetical." "Hypothetically, I don't see why not, if I were inclined to do so." "Even though I'm a manimal?" "You think, you talk . . . you're human enough. And you are rather cute, in your way." I wrinkled my nose at that. There tends to be an inverse relationship between being cute and being taken seriously. Teddy bears are cute, but they don't get any respect. I couldn't help the way I looked, though. Moreau had designed me that way. "I take it there's someone you have designs on?" Lady Nighthawk asked me. "I wouldn't put it like that," I said. "She's just a girl I know and kind of like." "The one who was with you when Nighthawk first came to see you?" I nodded. "That's the one. I'm just afraid that if I suggest doing anything with her, she's going to think it's bestiality." "From what I was told, she didn't seem too concerned about your looks when you came home beaten and bloody." "Most people will go out of their way to help a wounded animal." "Do you think that's how she sees you? As an animal?" "I don't know. Maybe." "Well, there's only one way to find out, Alvin." "Which begs the next question. Is romance even an option for people in our line of work?" "It's difficult. This is a deadly, dangerous business we're in. It's brutal and violent, and it's claimed more than a few lives." "Lots of people have dangerous jobs and still manage to have boyfriends and girlfriends, even get married and raise families." "I didn't say it was impossible, just difficult. The key thing is finding someone willing to be patient with you. Someone who doesn't mind being left at home alone when you're on a stakeout or tracking down leads." I nodded. "Have you managed to find someone like that?" She stood up. "Break time is over, Alvin. Do some backflips for me." I was in the middle of impressing her with my acrobatic expertise when the back door opened and Nighthawk came in. I hadn't seen him since that first night in my apartment, months ago. He was carrying a fat dufflebag under his arm. "We're on the clock," he said. "Zaretti?" Lady Nighthawk asked. He nodded. "A warehouse on Tenth and Vine." He unshouldered the bag and tossed it at my feet. "You're coming too." I stared down at the bag, then up at him. "You think I'm ready?" "You'll have to be. Suit up." I unzipped the bag, reached in, and pulled out a red-and-black costume with a cape and hood. No mask. No point in me having one. There was a letter "A" on the chest, just like my cartoon counterpart. Funny. "That's beta-weave Kevlar," said Nighthawk. "Should stop most small arms fire, though it'll still hurt like hell. It's been chemically treated to be fire-resistant, too. The boots have insulated rubber soles." There was more. Bolos, twin bandoliers of throwing blades, a nightstick, a grapple gun, and a belt with lots of little pouches full of goodies. I looked up at Nighthawk as he stood there, a tall, dark figure towering over me. I was kind of awed that he thought enough of me to have made me all this stuff. "Get moving, Alvin," he growled. I nodded and started getting dressed. The costume fit me perfectly, because of course it did. Within three minutes I was fully outfitted. I looked down at myself, and I have to say I looked damned good. Nighthawk and Lady Nighthawk appeared to be satisfied as well. They both turned and began walking toward the door. I followed them, hurrying to keep up. Outside in the parking lot sat a sleek, black hovercraft done up in the same bird motif as Nighthawk's costume. The gull-wing doors swung open as we approached. Nighthawk jumped in the driver's seat, and Lady Nighthawk took the passenger's seat, which left me to sit in the back. "So when do I get one of these?" I asked jokingly as I strapped myself in. "When you're old enough," Nighthawk replied. He fired it up, and it rose from the asphalt and screamed off into the sky, leaving my stomach behind.
We arrived at the warehouse minutes later, Nighthawk having activated the hovercraft's stealth mode to conceal our arrival. We set down on the rooftop on the far side of an adjacent building. The moon was high in the sky as we made our way across the roof to look down at the dark, grungy warehouse across the alley. We all took out our night vision binoculars and scanned the adjoining rooftop. "I count four lookouts," I said. "Five," Nighthawk corrected me. "There's one crouched behind the air conditioning unit by the east wall." "What's inside?" I asked. "Arms shipment. The warehouse is owned by a front company for the Zaretti crime family. That's not who's guarding it, though. They hired out for this." "Any idea who the hired guns are?" asked Lady Nighthawk. Nighthawk shook his head. "Couldn't find that out. It's not any of the regular Westside gangs, though. I'd know if they were involved." "Could I ask a stupid question?" I asked. "Why not just tip off the Millenium City police and let them handle it?" "Zaretti has moles in the MCPD. If the cops raided this place, they'd come up empty-handed." I nodded. "So it's up to us." "I'll take the nearest two," said Nighthawk. "Lady Nighthawk, you take the two by the north wall. Alvin, you've got the shy fellow by the east wall. We'll meet up by the central skylight." We all fired our grapple guns, the hooks catching behind the raised edge of the warehouse roof, and swung across the alleyway to the opposing wall. The devices then swiftly and silently pulled us up to the rooftop. There we split up, moving toward our respective targets. I was nervous and excited, this being my first opportunity to prove myself worthy of my benefactors' faith in me. I moved like a ghost across the gravel-covered roof, keeping my eyes on the sentry by the air conditioning unit. I came up behind him, readying a capsule full of knockout gas from my belt. When I was about five feet away, I hurled it at his feet. It broke on impact, and the fumes overcame him in seconds, causing him to collapse and go face-first into the gravel. Nicely done, Alvin, I thought, mentally patting myself on the back. I crouched down over him and shined my flashlight on his face. It was nondescript, yet somehow familiar. I was sure I'd seen it before somewhere in all the crime files Lady Nighthawk had made me look through. I bound his wrists behind him with zip cuffs and stuck a tape gag over his mouth. Then I went to join the others by the skylight. "Should we knock, or just let ourselves in?" I asked. Nighthawk and Lady Nighthawk were peering through the dirty skylight into the warehouse below. I counted at least ten guards on the floor, scattered among the large wooden crates, armed with submachine guns. Something about them bothered me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. "Lady Nighthawk and I will go in first," said Nighthawk. "You stay up here as backup." I nodded, not about to protest or complain about being relegated to the role of backup. After all, this was my first mission. I was thrilled just to be here, to be part of their team and accepted for who I was, treated like someone who actually mattered. So if Nighthawk said to stay put, I would stay put. "On the count of three," said Nighthawk. "One, two, THREE!" They crashed through the glass, hooking their grapples to the edge as they went through in one fluid motion. It was something I'd practiced but had yet to do in the field. They swooped down toward the floor, capes fluttering behind them, while the guards looked up in surprise. They landed on the floor together, hurling smoke bombs that exploded and shrouded them in an inky black cloud. And then the shooting started. I watched in awe as they ducked behind crates and started hurling throwing blades, bolos, and gas bombs, working their way through the guards like a pair of scythes cutting down ripe wheat. They were magnificent to watch, and my heart swelled with pride that two such seasoned professionals had chosen me to join them. Then something odd happened. Around one of the guards, a dozen more suddenly appeared out of thin air. These new arrivals weren't armed, but they spread out and formed a human wall, advancing toward Nighthawk and Lady Nighthawk as they battled the others. I took out my binoculars and trained them on the man whom the new arrivals had appeared around. Now I understood why the face of the sentry had looked so familiar: It had been identical to the face I was looking at now. It was the face of the man known as Mr. Gemini, a paranormal villain who had the ability to make seemingly endless copies of himself. That was what had been bugging me about the guards, I realized. They all looked the same. As I watched, more clones appeared and spread out. Nighthawk and Lady Nighthawk were quickly finding themselves surrounded and overwhelmed by sheer numbers. I fired my grapple gun at one of the roof support struts and swung down, aiming for Mr. Gemini himself. If I remembered correctly, taking him out would cause his clones to disappear. Unfortunately, that wasn't easy to do, as he also had the ability to disperse among his clones a portion of any force directed at him, meaning that he could absorb an extraordinary amount of damage. He looked up and saw me coming, and his eyes widened. "What the hell?" he asked, in a high, nasal, slightly effeminate voice. "I'm being attacked by a costumed rodent?" He didn't have time to say more, as I swung down and slammed the heel of my boot into his chin. It was like kicking a tree. I rebounded off him and somersaulted, landing in a crouch about five feet away. He snarled at me, rubbing his jaw. Anyone else would have been laid out flat by that kick, but Gemini was merely annoyed by it. He unholstered twin automatics from his hips and leveled them at me. "All right, fur-face! Let's play!" I snatched up a bolo from my belt and hurled it at his arms, simultaneously diving aside to avoid his gunfire. I'd practiced this maneuver many, many times, until it had become second nature to me. Gemini yelped as his arms were wrapped in nylon cord. He might have been superhumanly resilient, but he didn't possess superhuman strength. Bind him up, and he was as helpless as anyone else. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten about his main power. More of his clones appeared around me, lunging at me, arms outstretched. Fortunately, they weren't nearly as tough as their progenitor. I punched them in their faces, kneed them in their groins, swept their legs out from under them, and elbowed them in their guts. They fell easily, but more kept coming. A fist crashed into my head, a boot into my chest. I staggered back against a crate, gasping for breath. I glanced over at Nighthawk and Lady Nighthawk, but they each had their hands full with an army of Gemini clones. I couldn't expect any help from them. As the clones closed in on me, I threw a smoke bomb onto the floor and jumped up onto the top of the crate, dropping down on the other side while the clones fumbled around in the darkness. I'd bought myself a few seconds to get my breath back. Mr. Gemini had gotten his arms free and was reeling off sprays of lead in my direction as I ran and dodged among the crates. He didn't even care if he hit his clones while trying to get me. They were disposable ephemera. A couple of his bullets found their mark, and pain exploded on my left side. Nighthawk had been right—they did hurt like hell, even through the Kevlar. I gritted my teeth, glaring at him as he ejected the spent clips and reloaded. "Die, you little rat!" Gemini snarled, leveling his guns at me again. "I'm a chipmunk, not a rat!" I said, grabbing a throwing blade in each hand and hurling them at his guns. Both blades struck their targets, and the guns went skittering across the concrete floor as he cried out in surprise. He ran after them, and I threw myself on top of him, grappling with him as we both went down. He pushed his left hand into my face, trying to shove me off, while his outstretched right hand seized one of the guns. I grabbed his right wrist, forced his arm to bend so the gun in his hand was pointed at his own temple, and pressed my finger against his on the trigger. It fired once, and his head snapped back, the bullet thudding against his skull and falling to the floor. As I'd hoped, though he had been able to disperse most of its energy among his clones, there was still enough left over to knock him unconscious. Suddenly, the warehouse was empty save for Nighthawk, Lady Nighthawk, Mr. Gemini, and myself. My two companions came toward me while Gemini lay at my feet, an ugly purple bruise forming at his temple. Lady Nighthawk knelt beside him, inspecting him. "He'll be out for a while," she said. "May have a concussion." She looked up at me. "How did you know that wouldn't kill him?" "I remembered reading in his file that he's survived being struck by bullets before," I said. "I figured it wouldn't do him any lasting harm." She nodded. "Are you hurt?" "Nah, just sore, thanks to my costume." "I'll call this in," said Nighthawk, taking his cell phone from his belt and dialing the police. He spoke briefly to the dispatcher, then put the phone away. "They'll be here in a few minutes. We should be gone when they arrive." "Disappearing into the night, huh?" I asked, smiling. "Something like that. Come on." The hovercraft was waiting for us on the ground outside the warehouse, its doors open. We climbed inside, and it lifted off. Glancing down, I could see the flashing blue and red lights of police cars headed for the warehouse. Mr. Gemini had a date with Stronghold, the prison for supervillains. Hopefully, he'd be cooling his heels in there for a good, long time. I doubted he'd tell anyone who put him there, though. Too embarrassing. It was silent inside the hovercraft as we flew along over the glittering sea of lights that was Millenium City, and I started to feel uncomfortable, wondering if perhaps I'd done something wrong. I couldn't think of any way to broach the subject, however, so I just sat back in my seat and waited. If I had done something wrong, they'd let me know soon enough. We landed on the roof of my apartment building, and one of the rear gull-wing doors swished open to let me out. I climbed out onto the roof and turned to face Nighthawk, whose window was just rolling down. "You did well tonight," he said, "but don't let it go to your head. Remember, you're still a trainee." "See you tomorrow at the usual time, Alvin," said Lady Nighthawk. I nodded. "See you then. And thanks for believing in me." The window rolled up and the hovercraft sped off into the sky, leaving me standing alone on the roof. I grinned and thrust up my fists at the sky, my body trembling with ecstatic joy, and shouted, "Yes!" Then I went to the rooftop door, opened it, and headed downstairs to my apartment.
After letting myself in with the key I'd had the foresight to transfer from my street clothes to a pouch in my belt back at the dojo, I stripped off my costume and inspected my aching side where Mr. Gemini's bullets had hit. It was as tender as a soft-boiled egg, and brushing my fur aside, I could see the bruised purple flesh beneath. That was going to hurt for a couple of days at least. I went to my bedroom and put on a T-shirt and sweat pants, then went to the kitchen. I decided to treat myself to my favorite meal—spaghetti and meatballs. I put a pot of water on to boil, then flopped down on the couch, wincing at the twinge of pain in my side. It was going to be another lonely night, but for once I didn't mind. I felt that I was a part of something now, and took comfort in the knowledge that there were at least two people in this city who cared about me. I wondered if I should give myself a superhero name. Just Alvin didn't sound very heroic. I tried to come up with some ideas. Nightmunk? No, that sounded dumb. Captain Chipmunk? No, that was worse. The Alvinator? Gah! Everything I thought of sounded ridiculous, and it was going to be hard enough to be taken seriously as it was. I tried to think of a name that had nothing to do with my species. The problem with that was that all the good ones had already been used. I finally gave up on it and just let myself relax on my couch, enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet. The tranquility was abruptly shattered by the sound of a scream from down the hall, from the direction of Julie's apartment. I jumped off the couch, ran to my door, flung it open, and raced down the hall toward her door. A second, louder scream issued from inside her apartment. I tried the door. It was locked. I backed up to the opposite wall and hurled my body against the door, taking care to keep my bruised side turned away. The door flew open, and before me lay her living room, with Julie huddled up against the far wall in her waitress outfit and that jerk from the first night I'd met her looming menacingly over her. They were both staring at me. "What the hell? Get out of here, freak!" the man yelled at me. I shook my head. "No, I don't think so." He turned and came lumbering toward me. "I said beat it!" I smiled up at him. This was going to be fun. He lunged at me, a slow, clumsy, untrained attack. I grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor, which was easy because he was off-balance anyway. Then I rammed my knee into his back and grabbed his hair, smashing his nose into the carpet. He howled in pain and struggled to get up. I pulled his arm behind him and bent it upward at an agonizing angle, making him cry out again. I put my muzzle close to his ear. "Here's how this is going to work," I said quietly. "You're going to walk out of here and never come back. If you resist, I'm going to break both your arms. Are we clear?" He grunted something unintelligible. I bent his arm a little more and raised my voice. "I said, are we clear?" "Ahh!" he screamed. "Yes, we're clear!" I let go of him and stepped back. He stood up and looked down at me with a mixture of horror and hatred on his bloody face. Then he ran out the door and was gone. I turned to Julie. She hadn't moved. I went over to her. "Are you okay?" I asked. She held up her hands, frantically waving me off while turning her face from me. I stopped and waited. I could see that she was crying and that her face was bruised. "Do you want to be alone?" I asked. She didn't reply, just slowly got to her feet, wiping her face with her hands. I could imagine how she felt. I'd burst in on her being beaten up by her boyfriend. She was embarrassed, humiliated, frightened, vulnerable. I decided it would be better if I wasn't here. I turned and headed for the door. I could see I'd busted the lock coming in. I'd have to see about fixing that. "Wait!" she cried out. I stopped and turned around. "Yes?" "You broke my door," she said. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'll pay for that." "What if Carl comes back?" So, his name was Carl, huh? I shrugged. "You can use the chain lock. That's still good." She didn't look convinced. Frankly, neither was I. I knew how easy it was to defeat those things. "Look," I said, "if you like, I could, uh, stay here tonight. That way, if he comes back, he'll have to deal with me." "Stay here?" she asked. She looked decidedly uneasy about sharing her apartment with a man she hardly knew, let alone one who was also a manimal. "I'll sleep on the couch," I said. "I guess that could work," she said. "Okay. Have you eaten? I was just making myself spaghetti and meatballs." She shook her head. "I haven't eaten." "It's no problem for me to make enough for two." "Sure." She flung her arms wide and then wrapped them around herself. "Why did he have to be like that?" she asked the curtains. I bit my lip. "I don't know, Julie. But you can do better. A lot better." She looked at me with a kind of petulant defiance. "Yeah? With who?" I shrugged. "I don't know. But I know there are guys better than that." I went back to my apartment, dumped the spaghetti into the pot of boiling water, cooked the meatballs and tomato sauce, and stuck some frozen garlic bread in the toaster oven. I left my door open so I could hear Carl if he came back. I didn't think he would, though, not after what I'd done to him. When everything was ready, I put it all in a big serving bowl and brought it over to Julie's place. She'd changed out of her waitress uniform into a robe and pajamas. She'd also tried to conceal the bruises on her face with makeup. I put the spaghetti on the table and hopped up into one of her chairs. We ate in silence. I caught her staring at me a couple of times. I suppose that was to be expected. I'm sure she'd never had dinner with a manimal before. She must be watching the way my nose moved, the way my mouth worked. I was a curiosity to her, something new and different. I pretended not to notice. "So, how was your day?" she asked, finally. "It was all right," I said. "Nothing special." She nodded. "Thank you for helping." I smiled at her. "No problem. People should care about each other, right?" She smiled back. "Right." After dinner, we sat on the couch together and watched TV for a while. There was a news item about how the police had seized a massive arms shipment at a warehouse in Westside. Chief Surhoff refused to comment on who the guns belonged to or who had tipped them off or if paranormals had been involved. Eventually, Julie switched off the set, got up, and turned to face me. "I'm going to bed. Do you want a blanket?" I shook my head. "I'm fine like this. See you in the morning." She nodded. "Well, then, good night, Alvin." "Good night, Julie." She went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, and I stretched out on the couch, relaxing and closing my eyes. I was actually really tired. As I lay there dozing off, a tune came into my head, and I found myself softly singing it:
There's a somebody I'm longin' to see I hope that she Turns out to be Someone to watch over me
This is the first of a series of stories about the adventures of furry superheroes in Millennium City, the setting for the MMORPG Champions Online. It details the origin of Nightmunk, a chipmunk manimal (a fusion of human and animal DNA).
