EVERYBODY NEEDS A HERO

Part I: Everybody Needs a Hero

By Mark Lake

Have you ever wanted to be a hero? Brian Braddock hasn’t. If there is one thing that Brian Braddock never really wanted to be was a hero. As he walked along the moist grassy earth surrounding his new home dressed in surprisingly abnormal clothes he thought about this. Brian smiled looking down at what he was wearing, he seemed slightly ridiculous wearing a big pullover and blue muddied jeans. Not a British flag in sight and no lycra to be seen anywhere.

Yet as Brian smiled he looked up in the air and saw the beautiful air and remembered what it was like to feel the wind rush over him. He hadn’t flown in months.

“Brian…”

He was always so keen to note the bad points of being a superhero, never the good. Now flying that was a good point of being a hero.

“Brian…”

And having a friend like Kurt was yet another, he wondered how the fuzzy elf was doing.

“BRIAN!!”

The scream from the cottage and the slight breeze as something whizzed past him, reminded him of perhaps the greatest thing about being a superhero, they always ended up with beautiful wives!

“Hi darling!”

“Don’t come all over Casanova on me, Brian Braddock…”

“I don’t remember you ever having such an abrupt attitude with me before we came here Meggan Braddock!” he jokingly said as he grabbed her and pulled her tight.

“You no longer have the reason of saving the world as an excuse for being late.”

“Oh, how I miss the good ol’ days!”

“You miss them more than you think you know…”

The two walked arm in arm as they walked toward the beautiful cottage that was now their home.

“Let’s leave the telepathy to my sister, okay?”

The two laughed as they entered into their home, not a noise was stirring across the beautiful English countryside…

A tall dark man in a long black trenchcoat came over the hill and gazed down at the cottage.

“Designate Braddock and Meggan located, advise…”

A crackle came over the hand held radio unit… “Stand firm, form a perimeter around target and wait for further notice.”

“Affirmative, Agent Strickland out…”

Strickland looked behind him at the four or five similarly dressed people coming up behind him and two large black creatures, their skin like silk covered in war paints and strange metallic devices attached to their heads. Strickland signalled to his colleagues, and like a well oiled machine they fanned out, one of the two large creatures gave a grunt of disapproval as it was shepherded by one of the agents.

“Bloody animals,” cursed Strickland. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s working with bloody strange creatures.”

Rahne leapt over the grounds of Muir Island, her paws hardly touched the ground as she carried out her daily exercise routine. A semi-pathetic cry came whimpering from over the hill she had passed but a few seconds before.

“Rahne would it possible to slow down a bit?!?”

Gracefully she spun around and gently slowed, changing as she did from the almost wolf-like creature into the innocent teenage form of Rahne Sinclair.

“Ach, come on Dougie ye’ve got to keep up!”

Douglock would have panted if he could, he slowly trudged over the hill. He had never really had to exercise in his short but eventful life, it was only now when Rahne had time on her hands that she had encouraged him to join in more actively, he however was in no way going to keep up with anyone who could turn themselves into a wolf.

“I still do not feel there is a need to exercise so frantically…”

Rahnes face screwed slightly, showing annoyance, yet more sadness. “Just because Excalibur is no more doesnae mean ye stop exercising.”

“I did not mean to upset you Rahne!”

Rahne turned her back on the now close Douglock and looked down at the floor, fighting back tears of frustration.

“Excalibur was something very good Dougie, I still dinnae know why Kurt did what he did. Excalibur is needed!”

“Rahne… if one looks at the present situation with X-Factor disbanding and many X-Men now on leave, it seems that we are no longer needed as much as we thought we were…”

“Blinded Dougie, people have become blinded to how much they are needed!”

Suddenly Douglock’s voice fell to a whisper, “You are more right than you think, Rahne.”

“Why ya whispering?” queried Rahne, her voice still as loud as usual.

“To your left is a strange spherical object hovering and seemingly spying on us…” he said, still whispering.

Suddenly the object in question flew in front of Rahne and fired a kind of beam at both her and Douglock before starting to move away at a very fast velocity. Rahne dodged the beams, changing as she jumped clear and in a motion almost without thought she leapt after the spherical object.

Douglock, not being used to exercise fell flat on his backside as a beam struck him in the chest.

“It’s okay Rahne I’m fi…” he said to the air as he noticed that Rahne had already started a pursuit of their small and strange assailant.

This is what Rahne lived for, the chance to be a hero, despite all that had happened to her, this is what her life was about to defend the innocent, and to be attacked… well maybe she did not enjoy the latter, and yet she was aware of the consequences.

She skidded to a halt as she realised that the strange object had disappeared from sight. She breathed in heavily, sucking in the air of the Scottish countryside, waiting, smelling, waiting for that one…

She leapt her arms outstretched, the satisfying sound of claws scraping down metal could be heard as she caught the probe. Yet another beam launched from its small body, this time striking Rahne in the head, stunned she fell to earth with a large thud, the probe once more shot away on its escape course, leaving Rahne rubbing her now sore head. Rahne looked down at the strange metal plating that had come off the probe and gave a quick smile. For Rahne this was like a return to what passed for normal life, something to investigate.

“Ach Moira, look what we have here,” she giggled to herself.

Midday in a country pub on the outskirts of London…

What this generally means is that it is only filled with drunkards, old men and people who want to forget their lives. Midday is not the most uplifting time to be in any drinking establishment across the whole of Britain. Though nonetheless it is something that many an Englishman do…

Drinking had always been Pete Wisdom’s favourite past time, though even now it seemed a little pointless. On extended leave from W.H.O., Pete was simply trying to find a new path in life. That run in with Kitty Pryde may have ended on amicable terms but it showed him how good his life was with her, compared to what it had been, and indeed now what it was. Pete needed something, something to pick his life up and move it in new directions…

“Peter Wisdom,” came a deep voice from in front of the table.

This is just what he needed, that voice carried authority which meant two things; W.H.O. wanted him to shorten his leave and come now, and somebody with authority wanted to kick him in for something – this may seem a strange option, but Pete had had it happen to him on so many occasions he always had to count being beaten up as a likely occurrence in everyday life.

He decided to play this with a slight cockiness, he sparked up a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“I’m Pete Wisdom.”

He looked up, acting suave, then realised that was a bad idea. He was surrounded by six men in black suits all looking very mean, he also noticed that the pub was suddenly getting very very sparse, as the drunkards, old men and people who wanted to forget about their lives ran very quickly out of the pub.

“We’re arresting you for murder.”

“I haven’t killed anyone today…”

Calmly one of the six pulled a gun and shot the barmaid who had taken up a position behind the beer pumps. She flew backwards, against the glass fridge where the bottled beers were kept, and the smash of all the bottles was heard loudly as whoever was left in the pub stared in amazement.

The leader with the deep voice leant on the table, getting closer to Wisdom.

“You have now, and if you don’t want to be a mass murderer then come with us.”

Pete gripped his jaw. There were certain things you shouldn’t say to people who’s mother had been brutally killed by a mass murderer. There was also certain things you should hide from spies eyes, such as the insignia on the gun; a sun with star shaped rays emerging from it.

Pete didn’t respond. In a move that would have surprised anyone who didn’t know that Wisdom lacked common sense, he drove one of his hot knives into the table, causing it to be set alight. This knocked the six people back as the table was set alight. Stage two of his plan was to take the fight away, and in a matter of seconds he had launched himself through the glass of the window.

Luckily for Pete, who had forgotten that he was launching himself from the second floor window, he landed on a large green shubbery below.

Wisdom began to sprint off in the direction of the countryside, only to hear the familiar noise of gun shots ringing in his ear. A quick look back reconfirmed the obvious as six very angry people in black suits chased him. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain as one of the bullets struck his back. However, instead of keeling over he found that he just felt strangely happy and sleepy.

“Bastards!” he yelled, as he realised what had just been fired into his back. He stumbled as he tried to turn around – it was time to do the one thing he didn’t want to do.

As he attempted to focus on his assailants as they charged toward him ten hot knives sprang from his fingers, it was a good thing he was only trying to effect an escape rather than kill them, because there was no way he was going to hit them in his state. In one motion ten hot knives launched from his fingers, his assailants paused as the knives flew past them, they smiled to themselves knowing that they had him, that was until the few cars that were in the pubs car park exploded knocking the six onto the pavement.

Wisdom smiled as he turned and calmly walked away leaving the unconscious behind him. Reaching down to his jacket pocket he realised that he had left his cigarettes in the bar, but that didn’t matter too much as he could get some on the way. He was going to need a few new packets if he had any chance of surviving the hell that was Muir Island.

He grimaced as he realised he would have to go and see his old “teammates”. He couldn’t wait to get to meet them again, as they no doubt attempted to kill him once more.

The English countryside, is a beautiful thing, full of lovely looking cottages, grassy hills and not a thing in sight, well apart from the odd flying man.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he hates this. Ah, but it did feel good!

He was glad now that he kept his old Captain Britain costume. Tinkering with the force-field had come easy to him, and now thanks to that little adjustment he was flying again.

Brian soared through the air his arms outstretched he’d missed this, missed this a lot. He determined it was fine what he was doing, after all he was still in his jumper and jeans! He smiled inwardly as he realised that he was out of practice with the whole flying lark, in fact he wasn’t that good at all, looking like an aeroplane going through the worst turbulence it could ever experience. Yet to any onlookers, Brian Braddock looked amazingly gracious. That is of course, you were up with him, utilising highly expensive jet packs and pointing varied arsenal at him. That was exactly what Agent Strickland and two of his colleagues were doing.

Strickland almost laughed at loud to see the way in which Braddock had completely ignored their presence, he couldn’t believe that this man was in anyway feared by anyone, let alone able to have taken down Black Air. He raised his gun and aimed at the flying fool.

Brian was almost convinced he was getting the hang of this whole flying thing now, he was definately remembering how to get the whole thing together, that was of course until he felt the beam strike against his back and send him in no uncertain ways heading back to earth with a bang.

As he landed he tried to get aware of his surroundings, looking around he could not make out his assailants, mainly because one of them was very large, very very large, and black.

“I hate being a hero,” Braddock said out loud, even laughing at his predicament.

All he had to do is fly and that was that. Brian Braddock, superhero, was once again being attacked by things that were not human.

Strickland landed behind Braddock and re-aimed his gun at his opponent.

“Right, let’s get things straight. We want your wife, so please do not bother putting up a fight since you will lose.”

“You will not touch my wife!” Brian angrily countered.

Strickland looked around at his fellow colleagues as they landed and also levelled their weapons at the grounded Brian.

“Clichés withstanding, just lie there like a good boy.” As Strickland spoke he turned and started to head down to Brians home, the home of his wife. In a move that was so quick it surprised Brian he leapt at Strickland and floored him with one punch, before himself falling to the floor only a few feet away.

“Very good, Mister Braddock. Two things though – one; that thing I hit you with means you act as if you’ve just woken up with an almighty hangover, and two – I’m now going to have to say ‘Rover, kill’!”

At that the strange black creature leapt at Braddock…

Moira gently placed the scrap of metal onto the see-through plate of glass and clicked a few icons on her desktop. At this the glass glowed with an intense green light. If anyone didn’t know any better, they would say it was a fancy photocopying machine. Luckily, Moira MacTaggert knew exactly what the machine did. Douglock and Rahne looked on intensely as the green light passed under the object.

“Is there anythin’ else ya can tell me about this?” Moira asked.

“I felt I have seen it before,” responded Douglock.

“Which generally means it could’bae from anything from the whole of yae life,” sighed Rahne.

“Strange for someone with your brain capacity for you not to remember what it is, quite strange…” puzzled Moira.

“Stra…” As Douglock spoke the words the phone in the lab rang, immediately interrupting the discussion.

“Sorry Dougie, I’ll have tae get that,” dismissed Moira as she reached over to the phone.

“This is getting to be a habit,” Douglock mused.

Moira picked up the phone. “Muir Island.”

“Where’s Braddock?” asked the voice on the phone.

“Which Braddock?” Moira queried back.

“The bloody long haired blonde one.”

“….which one?”

“Look, you old hag, where is Braddock?”

“WISDOM?! Is that you?!” Moira seethed as she realised who the person she was talking to was.

“Nice to hear your voice as well…”

“The Braddocks have moved…”

“Then where the bloody hell is Excalibur?”

“Gone,” Moira said regretfully.

“Gone, as in no more? In any way, shape, or form?”

“Yes, now what do you want?

“Any flamin’ superhero team you could muster in the next five seconds.”

“Why?”

At that moment Rahne ran over to Moira and pulled her arm. “Moira, Moira look at the screen look at the screen!”

“Look hag, can you get the Irish Hound of the Baskervilles away, I need to tell you something!”

Moira looked at the screen, showing her exactly what the metal was, the alloy seen before only on the armour of a certain adversary they had once faced.

“Black Air,” whispered Moira hoping that if she whispered them would somehow go away.

“YES!! How did you know?!”

“They’ve been here, Peter.”

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we Moira?” asked Rahne, her innocence shown through.

“You sure you don’t have any superheroes down there?” asked Wisdom.

“Positive, there are only the three of us,” replied Moira.

“I think I should, y’know,” whimpered Pete awkwardly.

“Get ye ass here, Wisdom, we need all the help we can get! I’ll contact Brian…”

With that Moira hung up the phone and turned to the innocent faces of Douglock and Rahne. When Excalibur were at full strength they were nearly beaten by Black Air, and Douglock had nearly lost his life.

“Moira?” asked Rahne, concerned for her mentor.

“Aye, we are in trouble Rahne, and we are gonna have a hard time…”

“Shall I alert anyone?” asked Douglock.

“Who? There is no one to alert, donnae see that Dougie?”

Ah the fresh smell of cooking, it was the only thing that Meggan liked to replace the fresh country air. Especially her beef stew, it was something she was definately perfecting. Cooking was almost becoming as enjoyable as being a superhero.

Just then the door knocked and Meggan skipped along to the stairs, it was probably the neighbours again – lovely people, if a bit mad. She opened the door and gasped as she saw what only just resembled her husband. His hair knotted in his own blood, and both arms clearly broken. Tears began to stream from her face as Brian fell to the floor to reveal the form of Agent Strickland.

“Hi honey I’m home,” snickered Strickland. “Now, please note my dear that we just took out your hubby. Also I really couldn’t stand ruining your face, so please be a good girl and just pop along with us, aye whatd’ya say?”

Meggan stepped back in horror, not being able to hold back the tears. The only thing that she could think about was beef stew. Where was a hero when you needed one?

NEXT ISSUE: What plans does Strickland have for Meggan? The reunion of Pete Wisdom and Moira MacTaggert! A visit from Nightcrawler! And a cameo by several X-Men!