The Manimal Chronicles #14: Fox on the Run by snorgatch < Submission

Keywords male 1227539, female 1115370, human 110989, reptile 29337, lizard 25117, chipmunk 13579, armor 9579, humor 5819, violence 4552, action 4411, superhero 4376, comedy 4002, combat 1309, convention 1241, alvin 890, urban 661, detective 656

Fox on the Run

a story set in the universe of Champions Online

. . . so excited to really meet him . . .
. . . dumb jokes . . .
. . . really marry Sapphire? . . .
. . . that awesome costume . . .
. . . all this space, but no parking . . .
. . . meeting my friends here . . .
. . . nerds . . .
. . . when he fought Fake Nighthawk on that roof . . .

I made my way though the dense crowd in Millennium City's Renaissance Center, fragments of multiple conversations reaching my ears through the dark gray hood of my costume. It was really packed today, just as it was every year on the first Friday in April, the opening day of FoxbatCon, a convention dedicated to Foxbat, the most powerful, dangerous, and handsome supervillain in the entire universe, and in every parallel universe. Allegedly.
As I waded through the crowd, I reflected that one of the disadvantages of being only three feet tall is that in a crowd, you're pretty much blind. I was lost in a sea of brown and yellow, the legions of Foxbat fans emulating the colors of their idol's costume, insofar as they could. Unfortunately, some of them did not emulate his practice of good hygiene. Still, at least they got out of my way as I headed deeper into the crowd, toward the huge half-dome in the recessed center of the circular plaza, where a stage, podium, and aluminum scaffolding bearing spotlights had been erected so that the various guest speakers could address the audience.
"Hey, dig the little kid cosplaying as Nighthawk!" I overheard someone say. "Awesome costume!"
"You idiot!" someone else said. "That's not a cosplayer! That's Nightmunk!"
"Who the hell is Nightmunk?" the first person asked, sounding annoyed.
"You know, Nighthawk's manimal sidekick!"
"Nighthawk has a manimal sidekick?"
I stopped and turned, glaring up at them. "I am not Nighthawk's sidekick!" I said. "I'm his partner!"
They both stared at me, the first one now clearly able to see the furry face and blunt, bucktoothed muzzle sticking out from under my hood. "Sure, little dude!" he said, swallowing. "Whatever you say!"
I growled and turned, my dark gray cape—designed to look like a bird's wings—sweeping behind me as my trek toward the stage and my struggle for respectability continued.
At this point, you may be wondering why anyone would organize a convention dedicated to a known supervillain. Good question. Actually, there are three explanations. The first is that a lot of human beings are idiots. The second is that while Foxbat calls himself the most powerful, dangerous, and handsome supervillain yadda yadda yadda, he's actually a flaky nutjob whose primary vocation is staging grandiose pranks that, while inconvenient and annoying, don't actually hurt anyone (these have included flooding City Hall with grape jelly, drawing indelible mustaches on all the giant statues of heroes in the RenCen, and programming the music system in Club Caprice—the city's hottest nightclub—to play nothing but speed polka). And the third is that FoxbatCon brings in a lot of money for the city, which helps offset the cost of cleaning up the huge messes Foxbat makes.
As I approached the area before the stage—the heart of foxness, as it were—the nerdiness levels started going off the charts. Almost everyone was wearing brown-and-yellow Foxbat T-shirts or shirts that said "I <heart> Foxbat," and many were waving around big foam fingers, one of Foxbat's favorite props. I noticed that one of the attendees wasn't human. It was a robot animatronic fox about my height, wearing a cape like Foxbat's—yellow with a scalloped trailing edge that hung to its waist—and a convention badge, just like a regular guest. It was snapping pictures with a camera held in its tiny hands. Sure, why not?
A few of the guests were wearing Foxbat costumes—some of them pretty damned good. The standard design consisted of a light brown skintight bodysuit with yellow trunks, boots, and gloves, the boots and gloves each bearing three short spikes pointing outward. Around the waist was a utility belt bearing various Foxbatgadgets—replicas of which could be purchased for ridiculous prices from the various vendors set up in the RenCen—and a big letter F on the buckle. A dark brown stripe rose up from the belt buckle, widening as it spread out across the chest and shoulders, with a yellow emblem in the center of the chest that sort of looked like a front view of a seagull in flight, but was clearly meant to be a foxbat, whatever that was. Over the back hung the aforementioned yellow cape. The whole ensemble was topped off with a dark brown cowl and a yellow mask that rose upward to points above the head on either side of the face. It was actually a pretty snazzy costume. Pity it was worn by such a fruitcake.
At the center of all this madness stood Calvin Biselle, mayor of Millennium City, with a beefy bodyguard on either side of him. He was a slim black man in his fifties, with a friendly, affable manner, managing to maintain some measure of dignity despite his absurd surroundings. He was addressing the crowd as I approached. "Welcome to FoxbatCon! If you're getting hungry, the convention staff will happily direct you to someplace expensive to eat." Then he noticed me and smiled. "Nightmunk! You got my message! Thank you for coming!"
I smiled back. Mayor Biselle and I had been friends ever since I'd rescued his daughter after she'd been kidnapped by PSI—the Parapsychological Studies Institute, a group of evil psionics who posed as a self-help organization called Mind Inc. "Always glad to help, Mayor. What can I do for you?"
Biselle crouched down to be close to me, and put his mouth close to my ear so he could speak without being overheard. "We have a problem," he said. "It's Foxbat."
I sighed. "What's he done this time?"
"Nothing. That's the problem. Foxbat has disappeared!"
I blinked at him. "Disappeared?"
The mayor nodded, reached into his suit pocket, and handed me a folded note, which I opened. It read:
If you ever want to see Foxbat again (and I mean, specifically, in time for his Guest of Honor appearance at FoxbatCon), then follow these instructions exactly.
1. DO NOT involve the MCPD, UNTIL, PRIMUS, or the Champions.
2. BRING the following items to the steps of City Hall:
(1) Sleeps with the Fishes Basket from the Cod Father
(1) rental DVD of Foxbat & Friends from Captain Video
(1) Issue #5 of Champions Outfoxed! from Cardboard Heroes (New this week, please bag and board)
3. COME ALONE. Foxbat's in a small room, and not many people will fit, okay?
I stared at the note for a long moment. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!" I said at last. "They're not even asking for a real ransom, just a comic book, a DVD, and a basket of fish and chips!"
"I suppose we can count ourselves lucky in that regard," the mayor said. "Do you have any idea who might have done this?"
I scratched my head. "My best guess would be a crazed fan, but that doesn't seem very likely. Foxbat may be a goofball, but he's no pushover."
The mayor nodded. "I remember you fought him when he took over the WCOC TV station and held everyone hostage. It looked like a tough fight."
"It was," I said. Foxbat had been trying to show the world how awesome he was by taking down a superhero on live TV. Instead, he had ended up getting his ass handed to him by a three-foot chipmunk with no powers. Not exactly something to brag about.
"Do you think it could be another trap?" the mayor asked.
"Possibly. With Foxbat, it's hard to say. He's crazy. His reasons only make sense to him."
"I know this must all seem very silly and trivial to someone who deals with thieves, drug dealers, and murderers," said the mayor, "but I'd really appreciate it if you could look into it. It would mean a lot to Millennium City, and to me, personally."
I sighed. This really felt like it was beneath me. I'd helped save the world, for Pete's sake! But Millennium City had taken me in, given me a home and even a certain level of respect, and its mayor treated me like a friend. That meant a lot to me. I owed them both nothing less than my best, even for something as stupid as this. Besides, I reminded myself, even a hero as famous as Defender wasn't above rescuing a cat from a tree every once in a while.
"Fine, I'll do it," I told the mayor. "But you owe me."
Mayor Biselle looked at me seriously. "I already owe you a debt I can never repay. You gave me back my daughter."
My throat tightened a bit when he said that. Having lost my brothers on Monster Island, I could understand what it must have been like for him when his daughter was missing. Then I smiled and nodded. "It was my pleasure, mayor. Who knows? This might actually turn out to be a real kidnapping."
"Thank you, Nightmunk," said the mayor, smiling back at me. "I knew I could count on you." He clapped me on the shoulder and stood up.
I regarded the note for a moment. The simplest course would be to just follow the instructions and see where they led. I debated calling Nighthawk and Lady Nighthawk, but decided against it. They undoubtably had better things to do, and I was reasonably certain I could handle this by myself. If I couldn't, then I should probably consider retiring.

. . . start soon . . .
. . . biggest fan . . .
. . . I know! And then Foxbat hit him with a fish!
. . . foil cover . . .
. . . screen-accurate costume . . .
. . . thought I saw him earlier, but it was just a cosplayer . . .
. . . time machine . . .
. . . got dunked on Celebrity Shark Tank . . .

As I walked away from the stage, tapping some buttons on the left gauntlet of my costume, I noticed a member of the Champions at the edge of the crowd, being interviewed by a WCOC news crew. I smiled. Every year, one of them showed up at this thing to officially denounce it. Last year, it had been Ironclad. This year, their speedster, Kinetik, had apparently drawn the short straw. I'm sure they know that doing this makes them look like a bunch of sourpusses and spoilfuns, but as the world's most famous superteam, they do kind of have a duty to set an example. I considered asking him to get the items on my list for me—which probably would have taken him all of five seconds—but I didn't really feel like making his day any worse. Besides, I was trying to save the very con he was condemning. Plus I was the protégé of his former teammate, Nighthawk. Hello, irony. I glanced up as my grav bike came zooming down out of the sky, homing in on the signal my gauntlet was broadcasting and landing beside me while the conventioners around me gawked. I hopped onto it and shot off to begin my foxhunt.
I headed north from the RenCen to where I knew there was a Cardboard Heroes store and a Captain Video store right next to each other. That would save some time—not that I was in any particular hurry. It also meant I could get the fish and chips last, so they would still be hot. How thoughtful of me. I landed my grav bike in front of Cardboard Heroes and went inside. The fat, bearded proprietor did a double-take when he saw me. I'd never been inside one of these places before. Shockingly, I don't read comic books. Why would I? My life already is one.
"Greetings and salutations, Nightmunk!" he said, grinning. "Welcome to Cardboard Heroes! We've got collectibles, action figures, movie scripts, T-shirts, CCGs, dice, board games, and other memorabilia!"
"Do you have a copy of Champions Outfoxed! #5?" I asked.
"Oh, you're here for comics?" he asked, looking somewhat disappointed. "It's over there, in the rack with the other new stuff."
"Thanks," I said. I went over to a small rack tucked away in a back corner of the shop, found the comic I was after, took a copy, and examined it. It was the fifth issue of a six-issue limited series. The cover showed Foxbat dangling Defender upside down over a shark tank. I was pretty sure that had never really happened.
I took the comic to the counter. "Could I have this bagged and boarded?" I asked the proprietor.
"You know that just being in the rack means it's no longer mint condition," he cautioned me.
I smiled up at him. "I don't care."
"Okay," he said, and placed the comic in a plastic bag with a sheet of cardboard behind it.
"Thanks," I said, accepting the bagged comic from him. "How much do I owe you?"
He waved a hand. "It's on the house."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
He grinned. "You're a hero. I don't charge heroes. If it weren't for you guys, this shop wouldn't be here."
I shrugged. Seemed fair. I'd had the snot beaten out of me fighting to protect this city more times than I could count.
"I would ask if I could have my picture taken with you, though," he added, "if that's all right."
I actually felt really flattered by that. "Sure!" I said, grinning. He came out from behind the counter, crouched beside me, and took a picture of us both with his cell phone. He thanked me, we shook hands, and I left the shop.
I went next door to the Captain Video outlet, a chain named after the hero of a TV space opera from the early 1950s. While online streaming services have made these places largely obsolete, there are still some people—yours truly among them—who prefer to own copies of their favorite movies on DVD. I went up to the counter and asked the bored, scruffy-looking teenage clerk if he had a copy of Foxbat & Friends for rent. He looked down at me, his ennui not even dented by the presence of a manimal superhero, and replied that no, they didn't, but there might be one in the bargain bin. I looked over at the bin, a wire box taller than I was, filled with DVDs of unsuccessful movies and long-forgotten TV shows in no particular order. I sighed. Now I regretted not asking Kinetik for help. This was going to take a while. I asked the clerk if he had a chair I could stand on, and he got one for me and set it beside the bin. I thanked him, climbed up on the chair, and started digging.
Half an hour later, I held in my gloved hands what may have been the only remaining copy on Earth of a DVD of Foxbat & Friends, a cheap, badly animated Saturday morning cartoon from the '80s. Captain Video had put it in a generic case, so I opened it to make sure it contained the right disk. It did. I hopped down off my chair and brought it up to the counter, along with twelve other DVDs I'd come across while searching. Those twelve were movies that I liked but didn't own, or that I'd heard of but never seen, or that I'd never heard of but looked interesting. The whole lot cost me less than forty bucks. The clerk put them in a plastic bag for me, and I took them out to my grav bike. Several people were standing around gawking at it as it sat there on the sidewalk, and their eyes shifted to me as I came over. I smiled and said hello to them, dropped the DVDs into the small cargo space under the seat, hopped on, and shot off into the sky as the gawkers stared after me.
My next stop was the Cod Father, a mafia-themed fast food chain that specialized in fried seafood. There was one close to City Hall, so I headed for it. I landed and went inside, and the smell of cooking oil flooded my nostrils. My fur started feeling greasy just from being in there. I went up to the counter. There was a pretty young girl behind it, wearing a fedora and a T-shirt made to look like a pin-stripe suit with a carnation in the lapel. She blinked at me and then smiled. "Welcome to the Cod Father," she said, "where we'll make you a dinner you can't refuse! May I take your order?"
I glanced up at the menu above her, searching until I found what I wanted—a basket of golden, crispy, deep-fried fish, glistening with excess oil, nestled atop a bed of French fries with a cup of coleslaw and a biscuit on the side. It looked really tasty. "One Sleeps with the Fishes basket, please," I said. "To go."
She smiled and nodded. "Excellent choice, superhero!" She took my payment and went back to fetch it for me. A couple minutes later she returned, holding a paper bag with dark oil stains on it. She handed it down to me, and I thanked her and left. I hopped back on my bike, snuck a French fry from the bag, and headed for City Hall.
Millennium City's City Hall is a huge, domed, white marble Neoclassical edifice with the symmetry and simple geometric lines typical of such designs. The facade consists of a flattened, triangular portico supported by a row of towering columns, much like the front of the White House. While it looks like something from the 19th century, it was actually built in the 1990s on top of the ruins of Detroit, after Doctor Destroyer reduced that city to rubble.
I saw a solitary figure standing on the marble steps and flew down toward it. It was a young man wearing a trenchcoat over a yellow-and-brown Foxbat T-shirt, yellow-and-brown striped shorts, sneakers, sunglasses, and a broad-brimmed hat. He addressed me as I hovered before him on my grav bike. "So, did you bring the stuff in the note? I can't help you if you didn't bring the stuff in the note. I got specific instructions about that. You have to bring the stuff in the note if you want to find Foxbat."
"I have the stuff in the note," I replied.
"Cool, great," the man said. "He'll be really happy to get that stuff. Okay, so you just need to take all of that to this address, okay?" He handed me a piece of paper. "And remember, you have to go alone, okay? Okay, bye."
I glanced down at the paper. Scribbled on it was, "Tudor House room 2314." I nodded and flew off toward downtown.
Tudor House was a high-rise luxury hotel, one of many in downtown Millennium City. As hotels went, it was one of the most expensive in the city, and with all the electronic security it undoubtably had, it seemed like a less-than-ideal place to keep a kidnap victim, which increased the doubts I was having about this whole enterprise. Still, might as well see it through. Deciding there was no need for subterfuge, I landed my grav bike outside, dismounted, and entered through the front entrance, carrying my bag of stuff from the note. I was probably the first manimal ever to set foot in the place. Score one for progress.
Everyone in the lobby stared at me as I walked in, and the fussy-looking concierge immediately came over to me. "Pardon me, sir," he said, anxiously. "Is there a problem?"
I looked up at him and smiled reassuringly. "No, no problem. I'm just meeting someone."
"Oh, good!" he said, with a sigh of relief. Then he looked nervous again. "There . . . won't be any fighting, will there?"
I grinned. Everyone in Millennium City knew that superheroes and property damage go together like peanut butter and jelly. "I don't anticipate any. In any case, I'm sure your superhero insurance is fully paid up, right?" Yes, they have that here.
"Of course it is!" he said. "It's just that that sort of thing is bad for business, you know?"
I nodded. "I promise to be on my best behavior."
"The management would appreciate that, sir," he said.
I bade him goodbye and went to the elevators, where there were several people waiting. They all looked down at me in surprise as I stood there holding my bag of stuff from the note. One of the doors opened, and we all went inside. Of course, the button for the 23rd floor was above my reach. I sighed. "Could someone press 23 for me, please?" I asked. Someone helpfully pressed the button, and up we went.
I got off at the 23rd floor and walked down the hall until I came to room 2314. I knocked on the door and waited. After a moment, it opened a crack. Even through the crack, I could see that the person on the other side was Foxbat, or at least someone dressed like him. "Oh, hello, Nightmunk!" he said, in a voice that sounded a lot like Foxbat's. He opened the door. "Quick, come in before someone sees you!" I went inside, and he closed the door behind me. "Did you pick up those things I asked for?"
I nodded, handing him the bag. "Here they are."
He grinned his classic Foxbat grin. "Great! Thanks! It gets awfully boring here waiting for the convention to end." He took the bag of stuff from the note into the living room and set it down on a table in front of a couch. I followed him in. The TV was playing an episode of The Adventures of Foxbat, a campy but much-beloved show from the '60s, with Foxbat (played by actor Matt Hunt) and his sidekick Squirrel Boy (played by actor Jeff Hill) fighting some idiotic supervillain as big, garishly colored words like "Wham!" and "Pow!" and "Splat!" spun across the screen to the accompaniment of jazz trumpets. I looked around the hotel room. There didn't appear to be anyone else here.
"How did Matt Hunt get this part, anyway?" Foxbat asked, scowling at the TV as he sat down and began digging into his fish and chips. "He can't even do the laugh!"
"This doesn't look like a kidnapping," I cannily observed.
"Oh, that!" said Foxbat, talking with his mouth full. "Look, it's really hard for me to show my face outside right now, what with FoxbatCon going on and all. It's just crazy out there! No, I think I'll just stay right here in this comfy hotel room and watch this Foxbat and Friends DVD you rented for me."
"I didn't rent it," I said. "I bought it. It's all yours."
"Really?" he asked, looking surprised. "Gee, that was awfully nice of you, Nightmunk! I know we've had our differences in the past, what with you beating me up when I took over that TV station, but I'd like to think we can still be friends. So, let me reimburse you for the DVD. How much did it cost you? I bet it was a bundle! It's a real collector's item!"
I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd dug it out of a bargain bin. "Don't worry about it," I said. "Nighthawk will reimburse me. He's rich."
Foxbat nodded. "Okay." Then he grinned. "You know, we're not so different, you and I. Both dark, brooding avengers of the night!"
"Yeah," I said. "Look, FoxbatCon is your convention! All those people came here to honor you! Don't you think you owe it to your fans to at least show up?"
"Oh, no no no," he said, waving his yellow-gloved hands. "I see where this is going. And where you want me to go! But I'm not going! I'm not going back! All those fans—just thinking about it makes me panic! Oh no no no, not going back!"
I stared at him. It didn't seem possible for someone with such a monumental ego to be afraid of appearing in public. "You have stage fright?" I asked.
Foxbat glared at me. "Them's fightin' words, Nightmunk! I definitely do not have stage fright! I just don't want to stand on that big raised platform because I'm scared of all the people."
I decided I'd had enough of this. I folded my arms across my chest. "Get up. You're going to FoxbatCon."
"No! I am not!" Foxbat insisted. "And you can't make me! Wait, you're not going to use physical force, are you?"
I grinned at him and slammed my right fist into my left palm.
Foxbat jumped to his feet and drew his famous ping-pong-ball gun, aiming it at me. I dove to one side, because I knew what that thing could do. Foxbat may be a nutjob, but his gadgets are actually pretty damn effective. The ball shot past me and struck the minifridge across the room, demolishing it utterly. Someone was definitely not getting his room deposit back.
I hurled a throwing blade at his gun, knocking it out of his hand. Unfortunately, merely disarming Foxbat doesn't put him out, since he's also a master of forty-seven different kinds of martial arts. Allegedly. Whether that's true or not, he definitely knows how to fight, and in his obsessive need to make his fantasy a reality, he's trained his body to the peak of perfection. With a loud "Hi-YAH!" he charged at me and launched his yellow-booted foot at my furry face. I blocked his kick with my left gauntlet and threw a punch at his middle with my right, which he dodged with remarkable agility. I noted ironically that there was a fight in progress on the TV screen, so the comic book visual sound effects of the show were accenting our fight as well.
As we faced off against each other, arms raised defensively, he started to talk, because if there's one thing Foxbat can't resist, it's monologuing. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, Nightmunk," he said. "We're not so different, you and I."
"You said that already!" I growled.
"I did? Oh, sorry! How about, 'in a different world, we could have been friends'?"
"Will you just shut up and fight, you goof?" I threw a punch-kick-punch combination, which he blocked, giving ground. He retaliated with a karate chop aimed at my throat. I parried it, seized his arm, and executed a judo throw that heaved him over my shoulder and slammed him down onto the glass table, shattering it. I tried to get him in a choke hold, but he grabbed my arm and threw me off him, sending me flying across the room into a desk, smashing it to pieces. As I got to my feet, Foxbat snatched up his gun, aimed it at me, and fired. I suddenly found myself up to my neck in a huge glob of vanilla custard.
"Who could have foreseen," Foxbat expounded, "that two friends—nay, two brothers—could follow such divergent paths that would lead to such a heartbreaking conclusion? One, a tragic, misunderstood hero, the other, bound by duty to bring him in! Truely, it is a sad web the fates weave for us!"
"We're not friends or brothers!" I snarled at him as I squirmed in my custard coccoon. "I barely know you! And you're not a tragic hero, you're a loon!"
"You always knew it had to end this way, Nightmunk!" he declared. "Only one of us can leave here alive, and it won't be me!" He aimed his gun at me.
"That doesn't even make sense!" I protested, as I popped the questionite talons on my gauntlets and slashed myself free from the sticky goo engulfing me. I ducked as he fired, the ball whooshing over my head, and barreled into him, taking him down with my arm around his waist. I held him there, my body on top of his, the talons of my right gauntlet hovering above his face. "Had enough?" I asked.
Foxbat nodded, eyeing those gleaming blue-silver blades. "Yeah, I think we're done. That's twice you've beaten me now. You're a lot more frightening than that crowd of Foxbat fans. I'll show up, I promise. Now, where is my favorite ping-pong gun . . . ?"
I let him up, looking down at my costume. It was coated with vanilla custard. I sighed. As Foxbat searched for his favorite gun, I went out to the balcony and tapped some buttons on my gauntlet. My grav bike flew up to me, and I hopped on. "How do I know I can trust you?" I asked Foxbat.
He placed his hand over his heart. "Foxbat's word is his bond," he said solemnly. "And Nightmunk?"
"Yes?" I asked.
Foxbat smiled at me. "Thank you."
I bit my lip, feeling a little awkward. "You're welcome," I said. Then I flew off, heading toward the RenCen.

. . . who Greg Clunes is dating now . . .
. . . issue number 1. . .
. . . Where is Foxbat, anyway?
. . . in episode 105, when Squirrel Boy had that hamster . . .
. . . forum meetup . . .
. . . forgot to pack a toothbrush again . . .
. . . So much cosplay this year . . .
. . . the lines . . .
. . . OMG so cool!

I arrived back at FoxbatCon, after taking a quick trip through a fountain to wash the custard off my costume, and informed Mayor Biselle that Foxbat would show up for his Guest of Honor appearance. He thanked me profusely, shaking my hand, and said that Defender had been asking for me. It wasn't every day that the leader of the Champions wanted to see little old me, so I flew over to where he could usually be found, a small circular island of monitors and communications equipment in the plaza manned by agents of UNTIL—the United Nations Tribunal on International Law, an organization that polices supercrime around the world.
Defender was there, in his gleaming blue-and-white battle armor, a symbol of truth, justice, and everything good in the world. He smiled at me when I landed before him. "Good to see you, Nightmunk!" he said as I climbed off my bike.
"Good to see you, too, Defender," I replied. "What's up?"
"I have an urgent matter that requires your assistance. You may have heard that FoxbatCon is taking place in Renaissance Center at this very moment."
I glanced over at the all the fans in brown-and-yellow waving giant foam fingers. "You don't say."
He continued, unperturbed. "It is vital that you visit the signing tables and obtain autographs from both Jeff Hill and Matt Hunt. I would go myself, but my presence is needed here."
I blinked up at him. "You want me to get the autographs of the stars of the TV show?"
He nodded, handing me a pair of twenty dollar bills. "Have them made out to James, please."
I was a bit puzzled, but it's hard to turn down a request from one of the greatest superheroes on the planet, so I nodded and headed back toward the crowds of fans.
I descended once again into the recessed central area of the RenCen, where Matt Hunt and Jeff Hill were signing autographs. The line led past four costumed mannequins standing in display cases. I glanced up at them as the line inched along. The first one wore a rather silly costume with yellow thigh-high boots and long yellow gloves, both lined with soft cloth spikes, and a yellow mask modeled on the head of a real bat. A plaque identified it as the original costume worn by Matt Hunt in the 1967 television show The Adventures of Foxbat. The second wore a costume that was much darker and more menacing, with lots of sharp projections. The plaque said it was one of three costumes worn by actor Greg Clunes in the 1997 theatrical film Foxbat: The Movie. The third wore a replica of the costume worn by the real Foxbat. The fourth was a mannequin of a teenage boy, wearing an orange domino mask, a yellow T-shirt with an orange S on the chest, an orange belt, yellow gloves and boots, and yellow trunks that left the legs bare. The plaque said it was the original costume worn by Jeff Hill as Squirrel Boy in The Adventures of Foxbat. All four costumes were from the private collection of someone named Frederick Fosgood, probably a fanatical collector of Foxbat memorabilia.
After a long, long time, I finally got to the table where Matt Hunt and Jeff Hill were signing eight-by-ten glossies of publicity stills from the show. They were both old men now, of course, but they seemed happy to be here, chatting amiably with fans as they wrote. I stood on my toes so I could be seen over the top of the table. "Hello, Mr. Hunt and Mr. Hill," I said.
"Well, hello there!" Hunt replied, smiling down at me, his sunglasses gleaming in the bright sunlight. "That's a great costume, son! Who are you supposed to be?"
"He's not supposed to be anyone, Matt," said Hill. "He's Nightmunk."
Hunt looked at his former co-star. "Who?"
"A manimal hero who works with Nighthawk."
"Oh!" said Hunt, looking back at me. "My bad! Pleased to meet you, Nightmunk! Nice to see a hero who doesn't want to shut us down!" He extended his hand to me, and I shook it.
"You can call me Alvin," I said, smiling at him, "and don't mind the Champions. They're just doing what they have to."
"I suppose that's true. So, did you want us sign something for you?"
I put the twenties on the table and took a glossy from each of the stacks in front of them. "Could you dedicate these to James, please?" I asked, handing them the pictures of their old selves.
"Certainly!" said Hunt. Then he blinked at me. "Wait, I thought you said your name was Alvin!"
"It's a gift for a friend," I said.
"Ah, I see," said Hunt, writing on the picture.
I glanced back at the mannequins in the display cases as Hunt and Hill signed the pictures, and suddenly something hit me, something I was surprised I hadn't thought of before. "Wasn't Foxbat born after the show went off the air?" I asked.
"Look, I don't know how," said Hunt, "but Foxbat was definitely around back then. Everyone knew who he was. I met the guy when I auditioned, and there's no doubt in my mind. Same guy."
They handed me the signed glossies, and I thanked them both and headed back toward Defender, thinking about what Hunt had said. There were three possible explanations, in descending order of probability.
The first was that Foxbat was a legacy, an identity assumed by different people over time. That was hardly unprecedented. Black Mask, the hero of Vibora Bay, was an identity that had been passed down from parent to child since 1765. That didn't explain Matt Hunt's certainty that it was the same guy, but it had been a long time ago and he might be misremembering.
The second was that Foxbat was immortal. That, too, was not without precedent, as there were a number of folks running around who appeared to be immune to aging. Mark Derringer, a Canadian hero I'd encountered, had been fighting crime since the 1930s. And Arvad, king of the undersea kingdom of Lemuria, was an Empyrean, an immortal sub-race of humanity, and claimed to be over 100,000 years old. So, not impossible, but decidedly less likely.
The third was that time travel was involved. I wasn't aware of any power or device that could allow someone to travel through time, but that didn't mean such things didn't exist. However, it was definitely the least likely possibility.
I took the signed pictures back to Defender. "Thank you, Nightmunk," he said, looking very pleased as I handed them to him. "I'll have these signatures analyzed right away."
Sure he would. "Is James going to do that?" I asked.
"Ah," he said. "I see you've figured out my little deception."
"Nighthawk didn't put me on his team for my looks," I said.
"Of course not. As you've no doubt realized, these are for my friend, James Harmon. He's a fan of the show, but being president of Harmon Industries doesn't leave him much time to engage in such frivolities."
I simply nodded. I'd already concluded that James Harmon was actually Defender. On a recent trip to a parallel Earth called Multifaria, I'd encountered an evil version of the Champions called the Conquerors. Their leader, Shadow Destroyer, also went by the name Citizen Harmon. However, I didn't see any reason to let Defender know I was aware of his secret identity. Friends don't have to tell each other everything. I bid him goodbye, hopped on my grav bike, and headed home.

Arriving back at my Westside apartment, I said hello to Julie Martins, the human girl I live with. After I kissed her, I went into the bedroom to slip out of my costume and into something more comfortable, namely a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Julie was in the living room when I emerged, setting out some snacks and drinks in front of the TV, as we were expecting guests. I went over to help her.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I went over to answer it. Standing in the hallway were three people. The first was a Lemurian named Samtiss. He was a slender, reptilian creature with a scaly body, brown except for a white belly; golden eyes with vertical slit pupils; a webbed crest atop his head; fins on his back, thighs, and forearms; and a long, sinuous tail. As usual, he wasn't wearing any clothes, but he had no need for any. The second was his young son, Dorgok, considerably smaller than his father, with blue scales, wearing a decorative magenta loincloth and nothing else. The third was a young girl with green skin and leaves for hair. She, too, wasn't wearing any clothes, but her body was covered with leaves. Her name was Flora, and she was a half-faerie from Ireland.
"Hi! Come right in!" I said, stepping aside for them. They nodded and entered the apartment.
Julie smiled and waved to them. "Have a seat!" she said. "We're ready to start."
Samtiss's black forked tongue flickered. "I smell fish!" he said, in a raspy voice.
"Yeah, there's some tins of sardines," I said. "I thought you'd probably like those."
The two Lemurians and Flora seated themselves on the couch, and Samtiss and Dorgok both dug into the sardines, gulping them down one after another. "So, what are we watching?" Flora asked, with a slight Irish accent.
"Well, since you're not connoisseurs of bad movies, like us," said Julie, sitting down in a chair beside the couch, "we thought you might like to watch one that's actually good, so we queued up Highlander."
"What is it about?" asked Dorgok, stuffing another sardine into his wide, toothy mouth.
"A bunch of immortal guys who fight with swords," I replied.
The Lemurian boy nodded. "Sounds good!"
"Is there any romance in it?" Flora asked, smiling and glancing at Dorgok.
I nodded. "Yes, there is." I noticed her squeeze Dorgok's clawed hand, and the Lemurian boy responded by leaning over and pressing his mouth to her lips. I watched them with mixed feelings, as Dorgok and I have a rather rocky history. When I'd first met him, he'd been helping his mother try to kill his father and me. But being forced to join a group of teen heroes had changed him, to the point where he'd actually fallen in love with one of them. And in Multifaria, he'd shown rare courage and proved instrumental in defeating Shadow Destroyer. I still didn't particularly like or trust him, but Samtiss was my friend, so when he'd asked if Dorgok and Flora could join us for movie night, I couldn't say no.
"Be forewarned," I said, "the characters in the movie exist in different time periods, so it jumps back and forth in time a bit."
Samtiss nodded. "Noted."
Julie looked over at me. "By the way, what did the mayor want?"
"He wanted me to save FoxbatCon," I replied, "which I did. Hooray." That and what I'd just said about the movie got me thinking about time travel again. I looked over at Samtiss. "Sam, you know about all kinds of weird magic and technology. Is there any way to travel through time?"
Samtiss and Dorgok both stared at me, tongues flicking, then looked at each other. I couldn't read their lizard faces, but they seemed to share an understanding that I wasn't privy to. The two Lemurians looked back at me. "None that I know of," Samtiss replied. Dorgok simply nodded in agreement. I had the uncomfortable feeling there was something they weren't telling me, but I couldn't be certain.
"Okay," I said. Whatever. Friends don't have to tell each other everything. I picked up the remote and started the movie.

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The Manimal Chronicles #14: Fox on the Run

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