Chicago Wildlife - 23. What Are We, Some Kind Of...(Finale)

What Are We, Some Kind Of...(Finale)

I walk out the elevator, leaving Sleeping Beauty behind. Without giving him a second thought, I stroll up to the roof and walk over to the edge of the building. No matter which direction Ditto Perfect is coming from, I’ll be able to see him. But what then? What kind of powers will I have to put up with? I certainly can’t be expected to have memorized the Chicago Police Department’s Most Wanted: Supernatural Edition manual. How exactly is “bendy bones” supposed to help me in a fight against a guy who’s a practical Sith Lord by this point? I have one guy knocked out in an elevator that’s currently being called down to the lower floors (won’t that be a hoot for anyone who opens that door). I have two others that I dumped and haven’t heard from since (though considering one of them is Jacques, I’d say I’m not losing any fire power over here). And I just lost the final two others because excuse me for not being able to fly by breaking molecular physics! In total, I have the potential of five people with varying degrees of actual usefulness coming to help me out here, or the potential of having no one show up and I’m all on my lonesome. Plus, I have to contend with Persephone’s theory that all of these idiots are more concerned about a short-lived payday over keeping their heads on their necks.

“What’s da matter? Don’t tell me yo gonna give me blue balls now.”

Speak of Satan herself…

“I paid top dollah to git front row seats to da fight of da century. You best deliver, or da only head you’re ever gonna see again is yours, splattered on every corner of dat hospital roof you’re on.”

“Oh, but think of the children,” I reply dryly. “And here I thought you had completely altruistic intentions for saving this hospital.”

“Now I know what you’re thinking,” she continues, completely ignoring me, “’How can one little small fry go up against Goliath and come away smiling?’ And da answer is: boy you better hope dose other boys have a change of heart soon.”

“Well maybe if you decided to rub your two remaining brain cells together, you’d realize that telling me what powers Ditto Perfect has would help all this go much smoother.”

“And if you all DO decide to die, try to make sure you’re incinerated. I don’t need Ditto Perfect lapping up yo blood like a thirsty bitch and making my life even more of a migraine dan it already is. I might run out of criminals to use eventually, and I’d hate to have to start relying on da good boys and girls at Chicago Justice.”

…just what is her game? I’d absolutely peg her as the type to deliberately ignore me for her own jollies, but if it was me in her shoes, I’d be throwing everything I say back at me. Can she not actually hear us?

“Just one little question before I let you go: what’s one plus one?”

“Need I remind you dat I’m not paying you to sass. I’m paying you in ‘getting to live.’ So earn it.”

Tch. Another answer that could prove either theory. Fine, if that’s how she wants to play it, I’ll play along.

I then see something quite bright moseying its way through the wooded park area next to Ann & Robert’s. Aaaaaaand I see sparks of electricity shooting out from it. Must be Ditto Perfect, right on cue.

“Looks like my date’s arrived. I’ll give you the dirty play-by-play later. Ciao!”

I don’t hear anything back from her, which honestly, worries me a little. I head back to the elevator. I really hope that maniac’s not still inside.

#

“There he is! There he is! He’s almost at the hospital!” yelled Fred.

He and Cid had lost the other guy (what’s his name?) they were with, but it didn’t matter. The two of them were more than enough to squash some freaky strong guy with a couple wombo-combo powers thrown in for funsies.

“As a reminder, there’s copious quantities of blood in that hospital, and we have no way of knowing how much of it belongs to individuals with supernatural powers. If Mr. Michaels imbibed any or all of that blood, there’s no telling how much unforetold damage he would wreck upon the city. Even Chicago Justice would be hard pressed to contain him,” Cid said.

“He’s still in the forest! Why don’t you just set the whole thing on fire! Electricity’s supposed to start fires, not put them out!”

“There’s no guarantee that he hasn’t acquired a pyro-immunity ability. Furthermore, we should prohibit ourselves from performing any actions that would provide the government more incentive in incarcerating us.”

“But he’s right there!”

“We’ll bring the assault down to ground level. Keep it long-ranged. Until we know more about what he’s absorbed, we cannot fight in closed quarters.”

“Defcon Level Cootie, got it!”

Fred and Cid raced past Ditto Perfect and landed in front of him, putting themselves between him and the hospital. Ditto Perfect stopped in his tracks. Poor Michael Michaels. There stood a man, 6’4”, round like a beach ball, with his signature blue and purple dotted pants held up with suspenders, red dress shoes, no doubt some mismatched socks underneath those pantaloons with some new cartoon character on them, a red and yellow striped shirt, frizzy red hair, and one of those novelty hats with the propeller on top. This was currently the most dangerous man in Chicago. His uncharacteristically concerned-looking face turned back into its usual giddy self once seeing Fred and Cid. What had his handler told him? Fred didn’t really care.

“Please move, my friends,” said Ditto Perfect. “I have to get to the home behind you. My other friend says I’m needed in there.”

“And what is the identity of this ‘other friend’ of yours?” Cid asked.

Ditto Perfect looked stumped. He brought a finger up to a corner of his mouth, just like you would see in a cartoon.

“Uhhhh…I don’t know. He never told me his name.”

“What did he look like?” Fred asked.

Again, Ditto Perfect looked confused.

“Uhhhh…I don’t know. I never saw his face.”

“Did you even meet him at all?!” Fred shouted in frustration.

It seemed incredulous that even someone like Ditto Perfect wouldn’t know anything about someone he supposedly met, like his name or appearance, but then again, this is Ditto Perfect they’re talking about here. He’s not really capable of lying; at least, not without a whole lot of snickering.

“Ditto, perfect! He came up to me while I was washing the kiddies’ clothes in the river. He even gave me a lollipop to lick! It was a really pretty, red lollipop. It tasted really funny though. Like the blood of someone with a lot of anger.”

Welp, that explains how the ball got rolling.

“My newest friend told me that this home has a lot of kids in it, and they’re in a lot of pain. The grown-ups in there are hurting them!”

“It’s a fucking hospital, you fat oaf! Of course there’s going to be hurt kids in there!” Fred yelled.

“Please don’t aggravate our foe any more than is necessary,” warned Cid.

Ditto Perfect’s eyes widened, his smile gone, his friendly demeanor changed.

“So there ARE hurt kids in there! And you’re trying to stop me? You’re protecting the mean grown-ups?! Then you are not my friends at all!”

Ditto Perfect bent over and ripped a chunk of concrete out of the ground and hurled it at Fred and Cid. The pair leaped out of the way, allowing the chunk to go flying past them and crash into some parked cars. Car alarms started going off. People started noticing what was going on.

“Keep that hospital intact,” instructed Cid. “My running hypothesis is that Persephone will terminate our contracts if the hospital is destroyed just the same as if we fail to apprehend Ditto Perfect.”

Fred flew over and conjured up a thick ice wall around the entrance of the hospital.

“Done!”

“You just prevented one route of escape,” whined Cid.

“AND protected them!” Fred shot back.

Mechanical arms sprouted from Ditto Perfect’s back and he launched one set at Fred. Fred jumped out of the way, but it was way too close of a call.

“Bickering will have to wait until later, bro!”

“Agreed.”

Fred swept a hand at Ditto Perfect, releasing a beam of ice energy. He aimed the beam at Ditto Perfect’s feet, encasing them and pinning Ditto Perfect in place.

“Hope your master plan doesn’t involve getting cold feet!” Fred said.

Fred internally thought that it was a lame one-liner. He would workshop it later with Cid.

Cid flew right up to Ditto Perfect and hit him point blank with a torrent of flames. One thing Fred and Cid quickly learned working together: fire melts ice, which kinda defeats the whole point of freezing someone! So if Cid was attacking, then Fred had to play support. He could use one of the many plays Cid taught him. Fred started creating giant icicles around the parking lot. If Ditto Perfect was going to try a quarterback charge, he’d have to go through four feet thick slabs of ice first!

“Fire…hot!” Ditto Perfect said.

He didn’t seem to be affected by the fire at all! He staggered over to a nearby icicle, ripped it right of the ground, and swung it right into Cid’s side, sending him flying.

“Cid!”

Then, out of thin air, one of the mechanical arms gripped Fred by the neck. He pawed at it, but it wasn’t letting go. The arm retracted towards Ditto Perfect, who didn’t have a scorch mark on him, minus that hideous outfit. Ditto Perfect’s face was scrunched in with anger.

“Time you go nighty-night,” Ditto Perfect said, matter-of-factly.

A shot rang out. A bullet hit Ditto Perfect square in his left temple! A trickle of blood started pouring out of the bullet wound. Both Ditto Perfect and Fred looked to where the bullet had come from. Off in the distance, a silent predator lay still.

#

Pierre had revealed his location, not that it mattered much. From this distance, Ditto Perfect couldn’t reach him with the powers he’s shown thus far. Pierre doubted Ditto Perfect was cunning enough to keep some long-range ability secret by this point. And thirdly, it’s not like Ditto Perfect didn’t have his hands full already. Plus, that bullet Pierre fired was designed to rip apart a rhino’s insides. He figured the lug would be an acceptable equivalent. Looking through his scope again however, Pierre was a tad bit concerned that the mark’s head didn’t look like a Venus flytrap. A bit bloodied, sure, but not as much as he’d like. Perhaps another round would help.

Ditto Perfect flung the kid away and started making his way towards Pierre. Not fast enough. Enough time to reload. With expert handmanship, Pierre emptied the gun, plucked out another bullet from his inventory, loaded it in, locked the gun, and took aim. Ditto Perfect was much closer than he’d anticipated. Was it borrowed speed, or just the pacing of a mad man? Regardless, there was still more than enough room to take another shot. Line it up…

Bang. Right between the eyes. Hmmm…in retrospect, Pierre thought that maybe he should’ve aimed for the eye instead. If a bullet couldn’t penetrate the side of the head, what good was shooting at the front going to do? Force of habit, he supposed. At least he got the small satisfaction of seeing Ditto Perfect rear his head back a little from the force of the shot.

Did he have enough time for one more attempt? Judging from Ditto Perfect’s walk, the oaf didn’t have enough time to waltz up to Pierre’s roost before Pierre could lobby off another round. However, any long-range powers Ditto Perfect lapped up, such as those tendrils, could probably reach him before he could reload.

Pierre couldn’t risk it. But what he could risk…was switching to another gun. Throwing the sniper rifle away, he took out a sawed-off shotgun. Not his favorite toy, but it had its uses. Point, and click.

The mark showed signs of wearing down. Mainly in that he said that it hurt. Then he kept stumbling forward. Pierre recalled that there were supposed to be five other guys in this group assisting him. He wouldn’t mind if they’d all show up now to, you know, actually assist him. The mark hadn’t hurt his attempted murder victims THAT badly.

Lock, and reload. Point, and shoot.

The mark showed more annoyance in his face, but he seemed to have a stubborn drive to come and greet Pierre. Pierre decided right then and there that he was germophobic and didn’t want the mark touching him. And Pierre still had 31 bullets that could get that message across.

A beam of ice connected with the mark’s back, encasing his torso. He looked down in wonderment and surprise. Behind him, the boy yeehawed as he told his friend to make haste with the burning. Ah, typical youth mentality. Always celebrating before the job’s done. The mark sprouted more mechanical arms and tried grabbing the boy, but he had already wizened up to the mark’s tricks.

Pierre then heard the sounds of organized men. He looked down and saw more thugs with guns heading his way. Logical deduction dictated that they belonged to the same group as the men that had fired on Pierre, the fat man, and Disappearance earlier. More distressingly, the men were coming to the aid of two other men, who were finishing up mounting and loading a small missile launcher aimed right at him. Pierre recalled a rather famous quote from Winnie the Pooh that seemed really appropriate right about now.

But then, an ambulance truck, sirens quieted, barreled from the nearby street, swiftly running over the oncoming men and the missile launcher. Out stepped the fat man, who started to speak unnecessarily.

#

“YEEEAAAHHH!!! Take THAT, you sons of bitches! How do you like me now?! I can’t hear you! Oh wait, it’s because you’re DEAD!”

“What’s going on over there?”

“Shut your damn pie hole! Mind your own goddamn business!”

“Sigma Team, this is Zeta Team. Epsilon Team has been taken out. I repeat, Epsilon Team has been wiped out. Engaging target.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, fellas! Take it easy! Can’t we just talk about this? How much money do you want? Huh? Is it whores? You want whores? I know a great brothel…Fuck!”

“Get to cover!”

“I need eyes!”

“Second target up on the roof of the adjacent building!”

“He’s got an assault rifle!”

“Sir! Target confirmed as Monsieur Mime!”

“You goddamn piece of shit! You motherfucker! You almost shot me! Aren’t we supposed to be on the same team?!”

“Boys, our man may have every type of gun under the sun up there! Be prepared for anything!”

“He’s gotta run out of ammo at some point, right?”

“What?! In the car? What’s a car gonna do against Retard Perfect? Don’t you facepalm at me, mime! What? Oh right, the guys.”

“Keep the suppressive fire up, boys! The boss says no one gets in the way of Ditto Perfect’s rampage! I want that clown pinned down permanently!”

“Quit it…you…big meanies!”

“Project Frostburn! Project Hailfire! Project J.R.R. Martin!”

“I strongly suggest, for our survival, that you pick a singular stratagem and commit to it.”

“Where’d Hein go? Boys! I want visual confirmation on ALL targets!”

“HAAAA-HAHAHA!”

“He’s in the Mustang! Target is in the orange—!”

“Hey, this thing handles road bumps great! Next time one of yous gives me a parking ticket, remember this! If you’re still alive after tonight.”

“Open fire!”

“HAAAA-hehehe! I’m gonna run doughnuts on your graves!”

“Blast those tires out! Knock him—fuck!”

“Sir, we don’t have enough manpower to handle Hein and Monsieur Mime at the same time!”

“We need Sigma Team now, sir!”

“They’re mowing us down, sir! We need to retre—!”

“I’m calling it in now! Fuck, my arm! Damn you, Monsieur Mi—!”

“Shaddup. You talk too much. God, I’m probably doing your wife a favor here. Speaking of which, is she hot? What’s her number? Eh, I’ll find it on OkCupid tomorrow.”

“Zeta Leader down! I repeat, Zeta Leader down!”

“Bad guys won’t get kiddies! I’ll save them all!”

“Cid, could really use some suppressing fire over here!”

“Fred, that wouldn’t really…”

“I just wish all these goons would stop firing on us!”

“This is not the most appropriate time…”

“If we fail, do you think Persephone is gonna fire us?”

“Please stop.”

“Funny man is funny. I still have to stop you.”

“We’re taking too many casualties. Zeta Team, fall back! Fall back until Sigma Team arrives for backup!”

“Hey! Where’re you pansies going, huh?! I still got three tires that ain’t got blood on them! Yeah, you better run! You tell your boss not to mess with Jacques Hein, the greatest supervillain this city’s ever known!”

“You talk too much! You’re waking the kiddies!”

“Shit!”

“Oh? Is that a good boy I see over there? Why, it can only be Chicago’s bestest big brother, Ditto Perfect.”

#

Well, this is clearly getting us nowhere. I don’t know what juicy juice Ditto Perfect slurped on his way here, but clearly Cid and Fred combined can’t touch him. Looks like Monsieur Mime’s high-caliber bullets aren’t doing much either. And what’s Jacques going to do, hm? Drive a car into him? Might as well try to pry a compliment out of Sisterly Bond while he’s at it. Well step aside, boys. It’s time to show you how a real man does it.

“Are you a friend?” he asks, looking at me in confusion.

“Aw, you don’t remember me? I’m the nice, little snake man who so kindly pointed you to that children’s birthday party without a clown that one time.”

Yeah, there wasn’t a child’s birthday party. At least, I hope not. It would be horrifically funny if, by chance, there was one being held at whatever random location I told him to go to. Best case scenario: I led him on a wild goose chase.

“You did. I didn’t make it in time,” he says. He looks downtrodden.

“D’aww, I’m sure they moved it because of some rain. There’s always the next one.”

He smiles. That seems to cheer him up.

“You know what they say in Spain, ‘there’s always a birthday party somewhere!’”

Sometimes I wonder if he can’t perceive us as adults.

“Speaking of which, why don’t you go looking for another one on the other side of town? This is such a nice neighborhood, after all. I’m sure the poorer district over on the other side can’t as easily afford such a nice clown such as yourself and could really use your services, pro bono. That means ‘for free,’ by the way.”

“What a fantabulous idea! I should…wait a minute.”

He looks around.

“But there are bad guys here trying to hurt the kiddies. I have to stop them from hurting the poor kiddies.”

“And who told you that?”

“My new friend!”

“And who is your new friend? Wouldn’t it be the friendly thing to do to let your old friend know about your new friend?”

Come on, you son of a bitch. Give papa some blackmail.

“Oh…I guess so. But I don’t even know what they look like. They hid their face and everything. And they talked about their friend, The Boss. They said that since The Boss was their friend, and I was their friend, then The Boss was my friend as well! I made two new friends today!”

“You’re a social butterfly, Ditto Perfect.”

“Ditto, perfect!”

I’ve never heard of this “boss” before, but then again, how many wannabe crime kingpins are there in Chicago? Now then, time to get this freak off my back and this bomb out of my head.

“Well, it sounds to me like this new ‘friend’ of yours isn’t really a good friend at all. I’ve been your friend longer, and I say these fine young chaps you’ve been roughhousing with are my friends. And by your own admission, my friends are also your friends.”

“Uh, sooo…”

“I think you should march back to The Boss and see if he’s even really your fan! I mean, he didn’t even want to see you in person. You know what I think? I think he might be using you to make all the little kids in the hospital more scared.”

Judging by his expression, that seems to have struck a nerve.

“The kiddies?! Did my new friend lie to me?!”

You know, now that I think about it, maybe getting this combo platter of superpowers all riled up while I’m still in striking distance isn’t such a good idea…

“Did he lie?! That make me so angry!”

He’s fuming, like he’s about to explode. Like, literally about to explode. Quick, what kind of powers are commonly associated with high emotions such as anger, Robin! He rears back and coughs up…a diamond. A rather large diamond at that. Does it explode?

“Maybe you should be channeling your anger at The Boss and not me, the messenger,” I say, gently.

“I will find him and he will pay for trying to make a fool out of me, Ditto Perfect,” he says with a completely straight face somehow. I know I could barely keep mine on.

“Hey!” says one of the goons. “Get back to the hospital! You have orders!”

Ditto Perfect turns around to face the poor sap.

“Friends don’t boss friends around,” I say out loud, a smirk appearing.

“Bad…friend!” Ditto Perfect growls.

“Stay back!” shouts the goon.

He starts firing at Ditto Perfect, which of course does nothing against whatever his skin is made out of right now. Ditto Perfect roars, but then I hear crackling. I look behind me at Ditto Perfect. Sparks of electricity are starting to bolt out of him, while even more electricity in the air is being absorbed into him. Shit, he’s going to go EMP on us!

“Ditto Perfect, no!” I yell. My words have less meaning in them when I’m saying them whilst simultaneously running away as fast as I can.

“Kill the bastard!” screams Persephone in my head.

Ditto Perfect lets out a wail as he expands the electrical sphere he had created around himself. There was never any chance that I was going to escape it. The electric wave washes over me, pushing me down to the ground. Lifting my head, I see it envelop the entire immediate area, causing light fixtures to burn out and car alarms to start beeping. My head also started hurting, like the worst morning hangover. Dammit, did that clown just fry my brain? Is it still a fact that I’m the sexiest jewel thief this city’s ever known? Yes. Okay, brain’s not fried then.

“That bad friend is going to hear from my lawyer, Mr. Lawyer!” Ditto Perfect says, walking confidently to parts unknown. Please don’t tell me that there’s actually a Mr. Lawyer.

“You go…girl?” I mutter.

Wait. Crap. Is my mission a success then?

“Can I go home now, mom?” I say out loud, but more specifically, to Persephone. She doesn’t answer. No snappy comeback or anything. “Hello? Now’s not exactly the best time to be Away From Keyboard.”

Still nothing. Did she, hopefully, die, by any chance? Is she gonna give me enough time to sneak into a convenience mart and steal a couple Advils to get over this headache?

“Why do I got brain freeze?” I hear Malartic whine, loudly, from some distance away. “I may have flunked science, but I’m pretty sure solid ice and lightning bolts don’t work like that.”

“I am also undergoing the same malady; therefore, I believe your diagnosis is not correct. My working hypothesis is that Ditto Perfect’s bioelectrical discharge short-circuited the nanomachines Persephone’s organization injected into us.”

Is that freedom I smell? To hell with Ditto Perfect AND this hospital then! I’m punching out early tonight and heading home!

I start sprinting with newfound energy. I can still hear the bickering couple behind me.

“You mean we don’t have the bombs in us anymore?”

“It is merely an, admittedly hopeful, hypothesis.”

#

“So, uh, that Disappearance guy is kinda getting away? Are we letting that happen?” asked Fred.

Cid briefly considered searing the man’s legs off, or at least inflicting upon him such painful burns that he would be rendered immobile for months, which was more than enough time for the law enforcement officials to detain and arrest him. He then considered the full picture.

“We shall permit him to run. Disappearance values his privacy too much to inform any proper authorities, or superheroes, as to our true identities, even under the cover of his civilian identity. Furthermore, the more he entangles with us, the greater the risk of Persephone regaining her control over us becomes.”

Mr. Michael’s bellows of anguish could still be heard off in the distance.

“I do not like being lied to!”

It was a very succinct statement.

“Speaking of us,” Fred continued, “where did that mime get off to?”

Fred had, for once, made an astute observation. Cid looked to where he had last seen Monsieur Mime, but the enigmatic man had already vanished into the ether. Cid decided to take the more comforting thought: the man with a whole armory of high-powered, long-range guns wasn’t also still shooting at them. With any luck, he was now hunting down the despicable woman that had put them all in this position to begin with.

“Hey!” came an insignificant squeak from down below. “What’s the plan now, huh? Half the team’s already ditched us…again! Hope the bomb goes off in them first, I say!”

Cid descended down to the fat man’s level. “My current theory…”

“That electric shock broke all the bombs and we’re free to leave, so bye!” Fred interrupted.

“What? You serious?!”

“It’s only a working theo…”

“Totally serious, bro. You wanna help us rob a bank later on?”

“Hell fucking no! I’m outta here! And I hope I never have to see you losers ever again! But if you’re interested in telling a tell-all exposé…”

“Y-”

“No we are not. Come on, Fred, we need to regroup and strategize.”

“You mean hide and nap.”

Cid ignored that last line as he flew off.

#

You watch as everyone else left. The central-most main character, unscathed, scurrying into the nooks and crannies of alleyways like he had been born there. The juxtaposed characters, fire and ice, flying away without having any further purpose in this story. The mime, only getting a passing mentioning, meaning his actions might be driving the sequel the Author is desperately trying to lay down now. The comic relief, too late in the game for you to kill and still make the Readers “feel” anything.

And the psychopathic serial killer, who was also caught in the electric blast with all the others. Once again, a free agent, a puppet to be used by the Writer to appease the Readers. The mime might be trying to make his own sequel, but you’ve got one in mind as well, now that this crossover story has reached its end.

Before tonight, you were but a man. A man with no powers. But now, with the gift of having implants, having a serious electrical shock course through your veins, and having those two intertwine, perhaps now, you have become something more. Perhaps you are evolving with a new character arc. A psychotic serial killer that even most superheroes couldn’t apprehend, now has electric powers? You can already imagine how those scenes are going to play out.

But sleep well tonight, Chicago. Afterall, I could always be lying.