Flame Boy And Terror Man

Flame Boy and Terror Man

            Flame Boy hovered over the city, his cape billowing out behind him in the air flows that held him aloft. Today had been a good day. Two burglaries halted in progress, six assaults prevented, three cats saved from the terrifyingly towering branches of tall trees and one old lady helped across a busy road. He nodded his head in satisfaction. The city of Glasgow was safe for another day.

            He peeled off his mask for the moment – safely figuring that nobody could make out the features of his face from this height – and felt the coolness of the air refresh his sweating skin. He was still getting used to the discomfort of his uniform. Flame Boy had only been a superhero for a month now and there was still much to learn about his new abilities. He knew, rationally, that he should be able to stem the flow of his sweat, to transcend the mortal elements of his alter ego Alasdair Glass but had still to find the way. There was just so much still to do, so many people to save.

            A wail of sirens came from the streets below and Flame Boy’s super eyesight easily picked out the three police cars interweaving through the traffic on the Kingston Bridge. They were in hot pursuit of a banged up car, dented and erupting with glowing metallic sparks from a dislodged rear bumper. It must have been in accident but the driver had obviously chosen to flee the scene instead of dealing with the consequences. A Huge Mistake in Flame Boy’s city. He rearranged his mask, settling it back on his face, hiding Alasdair Glass behind the disguise, then swooped down in pursuit of the criminal who had dared to flaunt the laws.

            A chorus of car horns cheered him on as drivers peered out of their windows at his flying form, so close above their heads. They knew that they were safe if Flame Boy was on the case. The speeding police cars passed by underneath as he picked up speed, wrapping the air currents around him, bending the laws of physics to his own thermal needs. The air rippled behind him like a mirage so that the wake of his passage was blurred and obscured. The car was right ahead of him now, still dodging in and out of traffic dangerously, putting innocent lives at risk with its recklessness. He would have to be careful not to injure anybody else and, given how crowded the busy bridge was, that was going to be no small matter.

            He reached into the well of energy that he drew his powers from, that ethereal gift that had been bestowed upon him from the incident which had created him: the nightclub explosion. It bubbled inside of him, itching to be released.

The runaway car was directly beneath him and then, in less than a blink of an eye, it was behind him. Flame Boy flipped over onto his back, flying backwards and blind now, so that he could see past the windscreen to the driver; a young man with a shaved head, bristling stubble on his scalp and cheap tattoos on his forearms. His already wan face paled even more at the sight of the superhero before him. The car began to slow, the driver’s foot easing from the accelerator in his shock and surprise. Evidently he had thought that he would only have to deal with the police. He had not expected Flame Boy to intervene.

            It was time to end this before anybody got hurt. With his thermal-glare, Flame Boy sent a stream of boiling air into the windscreen, shattering it with the molten heat before melting the rubber of the steering wheel. The driver jerked his singed hands back in pain. His foot slammed onto the brake as he watched his only chance of manoeuvring his way to freedom melt before his eyes. The car came to a standstill as the three police cars screeched to a halt around it.

            It was another good job done and Flame Boy headed back up into the evening sky before heading for his alter ego’s home. It was getting close to the time where his parents would be becoming suspicious about his prolonged absence. Even superheroes needed to get their dinner on time.

*

            ‘Alasdair Glass! It’s high time that you woke up. You have to get to school.’ His mother’s voice woke him gently from his slumber. With a nervous glance around his room to make sure that none of his superhero paraphernalia was lying around, Alasdair sat up in bed and fumbled around the nightstand for his glasses.

            ‘I’m trying Mum, just can’t seem to get up today. I’m tired.’ He called down, past the closed door of his bedroom to the hallway beyond.

            ‘You need to try harder Alasdair, do it for me.’

            They had talked like this for weeks now, since he had discovered his true identity, in shouts and whispers but never really seeing the other. It had felt like ages since he had seen her face, since he had had any experience of her other than her voice but there was important things to do right now; too many people to save. He would see her soon. He promised himself.

            Struggling upright, Alasdair stood in his pyjamas and looked around his room. It was the same as any other comic-obsessed eleven year old boys’. Posters of Superman, Spiderman, Batman and Wonder Woman filled the walls. Spiderman was his favourite but then they were kindred spirits of a kind. They were both boys who had been altered by events beyond their control for responsibilities that they had to deal with. They both struggled. Superman had always been slightly too powerful, Batman too angry and Wonder Woman too…well womanly for him to emphasise with but Peter Parker? Peter Parker he knew that he had something in common with.

            Alasdair sighed heavily. Another day lay ahead of him, more battles and conflicts to deal with but that was what he had to do; to protect people from whatever terrorised them. That was what he had been (re)born for.

            He reached over for his cape, his leggings, tunic and mask. It was time for Flame Boy to flare.     

*

            He rested on the roof of the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, lounging in the sunlight, listening to the ebb and flow of the streets below him. It had been a busy morning but there had been nothing too taxing for his abilities; the city was able to function safely without him – for a little while at least. There were rumours of a new gang operating out of Govan, a vicious bunch that had no qualms about killing anybody that got in their way. There had already been two vicious gang brawls that had erupted while he had been otherwise occupied but Flame Boy knew that he would have to turn his attention to the violence now before it got even further out of hand. It could not be allowed to progress. These criminals would discover that crime didn’t pay in any city that he protected.

            A sudden rumble snapped him out of his thoughts. That had sounded almost like an Earthquake or…an explosion. Flame Boy shot into the air, straight up, higher and higher so that he could have a bird’s eye view of the whole city. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. There: a plume of smoke billowing into the air, mushrooming above a tower block! He raced towards it.

            As he neared the scene Flame Boy became aware of a presence, a dark, malignant force that consumed and devoured everything good to feed its insatiable hunger. It was powerful – like him – a super-being; a villain. It had caused this chaos and was now revelling in the anarchy. But Flame Boy couldn’t see a thing with all this smoke hovering around. He had to deal with it first before he could turn his attention to this new evil.

            With an almighty breath of air he blew the smog away, filtering it into the atmosphere where it would be of no more bother to anyone. With its cloying mass gone he could see the flames that had caused the pillar of smoke. There was a fire raging out of control in one of the flats, the flames licking from the window. He rushed towards it, oblivious and impervious to the heat. He was Flame Boy after all and this was his element.

            ‘Help me Flame Boy, help me.’ The voice was weak and it came from the back of the flat, through a closed doorway that was even now under threat from the advancing flames. He had no time to lose. With a sudden rush he barged the door down and extinguished the flames with another mighty breath of air. There was a shape huddled against the wall, hidden by a blanket that covered it.

            ‘Oh thank you Flame Boy, thank you.’ The voice dripped with sarcasm and grew darker; vengeful and angry. The shape stood up and revealed itself to be the presence that Flame Boy had felt before. Behind his mask, beneath the disguise, Alasdair quaked.

            ‘What do you want?’ He asked, trying to remain calm, his eyes searching around the room in case there were any traps lurking.

            ‘What do I want? You…dead. Out of the way. I cannot feed with you here and I am hungry.’ It was a man, or at least the shape of a man, covered in darkness and shadows with no features but the complete and utter oblivion of a void to identify it.

            ‘Who are you?’ Flame Boy asked but he already knew. He could feel it.

            ‘I’m Terror Man and I am your worst nightmare made flesh. You try and give people hope? I’m going to devour it. I’m so, so, hungry.’ Terror Man suddenly lunged at his nemesis, dark fingers grasping intently as if to grab and rip and tear him apart. Flame Boy barely managed to get out of the way, propelling himself backwards with a thermal blast towards the window once more, towards the freedom of the sky where he would be able to fight this menace properly. But before he could get there, a sharp tug on his cape stopped him short of the broken window. Dark hands hauled him closer.

            ‘I am strong. You cannot beat me little boy, not here, not in my domain where I rule.’

            ‘I’m not afraid of you Terror Man and I will beat you.’ Flame Boy hoped that his voice sounded stronger than he felt. Fear, for the first time since he had been reborn from the ashes of the nightclub, began to wriggle its way into his stomach, around his heart. He began to struggle while the super-villain above him began to cackle in demonic glee.

            ‘I’m going to eat your heart little boy but not today, not now that I’ve had a little taste of your fear. It needs to grow, to become plumper, more delicious a morsel to devour. Go little boy, flee, run away for now. I’ll find you when you’re ready.’

            Flame Boy was suddenly released and found that he was alone in the flat.

            He breathed heavily, in shuddering gasps and when he could hold them in no longer, burst into a squall of tears at the fear he had felt in the cold grasp of Terror Man.

*

            ‘Alasdair? Alasdair? You need to get up; you need to keep on fighting.’

            She woke him again with her whispers. His mother did not know that he was also the caped, masked hero that patrolled the city but her words still struck a chord with him anyway. He had to keep on going. He could not be defeated by…Alasdair didn’t even want to think the name in case it gave his nemesis even more power over him.

            ‘I’ve got your favourite comic book, sorry, graphic novel here Alasdair. “The Amazing Spiderman: Revelations.” Do you want to read it now?’

            ‘Not right yet Mum, I’m still getting up.’ He shouted back, slightly angrily. It was always get up get up get up with her. Couldn’t she see that he needed his rest; that he needed to recuperate for a while? She might not know that he was Flame Boy but surely she could still see that he was tired? Surely?

            He sighed and swung his feet over the edge of his bed. He was still too small in stature, too young, to reach the floor properly so he dangled slightly above the carpet before hopping down. This was always the worst thing about being Alasdair Glass; he had to be clumsy, had to be unkempt, his hair a mess of tangles, his glasses too thick, his gait too awkward. He hated it. In the sky, in his uniform, he was free and graceful and good.

Down here, on the ground, he was nothing special at all.

            ‘You’re special to me.’ His mother whispered but he couldn’t hear her. He was too busy getting ready.

*

            There had to be a way to defeat Terror Man, there had to be some weakness to exploit. If he knew comic books – and Alasdair did know comic books – there was always some point of vulnerability to latch onto. He just had to find it.

            He soared over the city, skimming over the city centre, keeping his gaze firmly ahead, trying his best to ignore the bustle of the streets below. He was vaguely aware of crowds stopping what they were doing to watch Flame Boy’s flight, pointing and cheering as he rushed across their horizons but he didn’t have the luxury right now to give them his full attention. He was too embroiled in trying to find a solution for his problem.

            Flame Boy had never had anybody of equal power to fight before now, had always assumed himself to be alone in the world, a super-being in and of himself; the Alpha and Omega. Unique. Special. The fact that there was this other here now, this super-being of immeasurable evil, was worrying him more than he would admit to anyone, even if he could. Nobody knew his alias, nobody knew who he really was and thus there was nobody that he could really turn to. Flame Boy was alone. Alasdair Glass was alone. There was nobody who could help. If only he had a sidekick but then he wouldn’t wish this burden on anybody.

            ‘C’mon Flame Boy…there has to be something…think.’ He muttered to himself as he flew, trying to reason out the problem but coming back with no answers to the questions that he asked.

            ‘Terror Man…terror…he said that he would feed on my fear. It must be what fuels him. Can I use that against him? Can I? Think!’ Glasgow Green rushed by beneath him, a quick flash of greenery that quickly gave way to the concrete streets again. Without realising it, he was moving faster and faster, gaining speed until he was just a heated blur to those down below; unable to see anything but a shimmering streak across the sky.

            The shriek of sirens brought him from his thoughts. He was needed. With a small curse, that would have had his mother gasp in shock if she had heard it, Flame Boy slowed his rapid passage through the sky and tried to focus. Where were they? What was going on?

            There! Down below. There was a commotion around a house, a crowd that was standing far enough back behind barricades and a ring of police. Gunshots. The smell of smoke. The fear of the crowd, scared that they might be next but unable to tear themselves away from the scene. A body. Bleeding. Dead. Fear. He would be there: Terror Man. Lurking. Waiting. Licking his dark lips and tasting the agony of palatable horror.

            Flame Boy felt the first stirrings of trepidation but he rushed towards the ground anyway. He was needed and couldn’t shirk his responsibilities now. With great power comes great…

            The stench of darkness struck him as he descended, lashing out at him, trying to put him off balance, to make him fear. Flame Boy steeled himself then plunged faster. He had to stop this, had to protect.

            There was a shooter, somewhere in the house, leaning from a window and firing shots as innocent people passing by. There would be no real reason for it. There never was. There was just hate, strong enough to fuel the world. Terror Man would love it.

            Flame Boy used his innate powers to wrap his whole body in flames so that he became an inferno, terrible to behold if you were a bad guy, a villain, a madman intent on random slaughter. There came a cheer from the crowd as they realised that they were seeing a bona fide hero in action; that they were going to be saved. He plunged into the house in a fireball.

            There was nobody there, just a discarded gun lying on a bed, still smoking. A dark shadow lurked in the corner then moved into the light.

            ‘Flame Boy…you came back.’

            And then the roof collapsed on top of him.

*

THE ORIGINS OF FLAME BOY

            The bomb exploded and people died. The flames ate the stars and hope died. A boy, in another city altogether, fell down a flight of stairs and banged his head. He woke up in the ashes of a burned out building and felt such an intoxicating rush of power that he vowed that he would only use this newfound ability for the forces of good. A mother waits anxiously by a bedside, waiting for her only child to rise. She has no-one else and needs him more than life itself.

            Wake up Alasdair, wake up.

*

            They tussled through the raining plasterboard and roofing tiles, struggling against the strength of the other. At moments it seemed as if Terror Man would win through and utterly destroy his opponent but at others it seemed that Flame Boy had the upper hand and would surely shortly vanquish his terrible foe. The crumbling building collapsed around them, the rubble striking against their fighting bodies. Power, both dark and light, lashed out.

            Outside, in the streets, the people held their collective breaths, hoping that hope would win. They feared that it wouldn’t, little realising that it was this very fear that might accomplish Terror Man’s victory.

            Suddenly a body crashed through the falling building and skidded along the tarmac road outside, cutting a deep grove, as if a comet had gouged its way from the stars. The crowd gasped. It was Flame Boy.

            ‘YES! YES! I HAVE DESTROYED HIM. FEAR ME!’ Terror Man made his way from the wreckage, growing more powerful with every step, the despair of the crowd feeding him, strengthening him.

            With terrified screams, the crowd began to run in a blind panic, colliding with each other, thrusting bodies aside, underfoot, sacrificing others so that they alone could escape. Terror Man began to stride through them, picking strangers at random, clutching at them and ripping them to shreds with his dark powers. He didn’t care who.

            There was a young girl at the corner of his crowd, a young girl whose mother was wondering about her whereabouts but who hadn’t yet grown concerned; she was still safe at home with no idea of the havoc that was being caused. The girl’s name was Faith and she was scared. There was nobody to keep her safe, nobody to hold her hand and tell her that everything was going to okay. She was alone. Alone…except for the barely breathing body of Flame Boy whose tumbling had taken him right to Faith’s feet.

            ‘Wake up Flame Boy, please. We need you.’ She said.

            ‘Wake up Alasdair, please. I need you.’

            Barely able to hear her voice, lost to the pain that held him prisoner, Flame Boy struggled to open his weary eyes. Somebody needed him. He was tired and he ached and he had no hope of his own left, his fight with Terror Man had exhausted him beyond the brink.  He was in so much pain that he was praying for death to take it all away. But somebody needed him.

            Flame Boy opened his eyes. He fought himself free. There was a young girl before him, looking at him with scared eyes. He pushed himself upright. In the background he could hear the screams of Terror Man’s victims, calling for help, shrieking into the world but he wasn’t quite ready to return to the struggle. Not yet. Not quite yet.

            ‘Are you okay?’ He asked the girl. She eyed him with less wary eyes, confidence growing as she saw that Flame Boy, the city’s saviour, wasn’t quite out of action yet. Faith nodded quickly.

            ‘Good. Is your mother nearby?’

            She shook her head.

            ‘Neither is mine. We should probably find them again…what do you think?’

            Faith smiled at him, a gumsy gap between in her front teeth. Flame Boy smiled back then held out his hand.

            ‘Let’s get going then.’

            He held tightly to the small palm that clasped his own then stepped out of the crater that had sheltered them from the carnage being wrought around them.

            ‘TERROR MAN!’ He shouted angrily. ‘I’M COMING FOR YOU!’

            Silence suddenly fell as the screams of the people faded away. They had heard him. They knew that voice. Their hero was nearby and he would save them. Because he had to.

            ‘No. It can’t be. I destroyed you.’ Terror Man’s voice was weak with shock. He hadn’t expected this. Flame Boy was meant to be dead. He felt the dark power he had gathered to him seep away as sudden fear struck at him. How could Flame Boy come back? What if he couldn’t be beaten? What if…

            Holding Faith’s hand tightly, Flame Boy smiled. Things were evening up now. It was time for the fight to truly begin. He clenched his fist and the flames danced.

*

Not too far away, in a hospital bed, Alasdair Glass opened his eyes for the first time in weeks and saw his mother staring at him with such hope that he felt as if his heart would burst. He smiled back and felt slight tears welling in the corner of his eyes. He was home.

            He was no longer alone.